The Adventures of Coon and Friends
by TheCurtainDrops
Summary: With the growing issue of crime filtering through the quiet little mountain town of South Park, young millionaire Eric Cartman assumes the position of hero and swears to avenge the painful death of his beloved father through a crime fighting alter ego. Although, perhaps he'll need steady help from a trio of boys he never would've imagined being friends with. (AU)
1. The Rise of Professor Chaos

**This may seem a bit out of date considering how long it's been since a Coon and Friends episode was newly aired. Although, the new release of** ** _The Fractured But Whole_** **might assist my case. I published this awhile ago on another website but didn't receive much excitement. Hopefully, now that** ** _South Park_** **has just started airing season twenty, people might take an interest in this revived fanfiction. It's an AU, but not really. The characters are much older and the humor isn't as outrageous as the television show.**

 **Nonetheless, it is a** ** _South Park_** **fanfiction and will contain swearing as well as certain sexual conflicts (somewhere in the future). I'll try keeping the characters away from the dreaded OOC charges but, one more time, it's a different time and different storyline. The characters have yet to meet.**

 **Rated T, please enjoy!**

* * *

 _Tick._

 _Tick._

 _Tick_.

A pair of dark blue eyes watched as the minutes slowly dragged by, the clock seemed to mock them knowingly. It might've upsetted Leopold, had he not been so used to the abuse. Everything around him wanted his demise, his failure. Even his own parents had a terrible need for him to kneel to their order. But that wasn't entirely his fault. His parents simply couldn't handle their own pathetic virtue, so they focused on his instead.

Parents were meant to love their child. Leopold scoffed at such a thought. No, daughters and sons were born for the sake of reproduction. Parents didn't ever _like_ it though. Spawns were created to ease the pain of adults. They were getting older, why not take it out on the youth?

While Leopold decided he held no fault over his parents' deliberate hatred of him, he supposed he did when it came to the rest of the world and _their_ issues over him. Leopold was smart, but highly nervous of other humans. And because he mistakenly made this obvious, he was torn down every waking second of his life.

Even now, he was forced not to look back over his shoulder at Craig Tucker and his pack of praising pets as they struck the back of his head with balled up wads of paper. What use would it be? It wasn't as though the blonde could ever muster up a look of scorn. Not without a good ass kicking come the end of class. He honestly could do without the bruises. Somehow, his parents would manage to use them as leverage for further punishment.

Leopold breathed, pushing slim fingers through his short, fair hair. The mind of a young adolescent was not meant to be so dark and despondent. And yet he imagined what a sight it might be to watch Craig's blood slipping like spilled wine from his throat. He pressed his pencil so hard against his blank paper, the tip broke in a small but deafening crack. It was enough to vanquish such treacherous ideas but apparently, was also loud enough to draw the teacher from her lessons.

"Mister Starch," she summoned him from his darkness, and his dark blue eyes reflected in disbelief as he slowly met her irritated gaze. "If you're so bent on causing a ruckus in my class, then I suggest you step outside and join all the other hooligans in the gymnasium."

Leopold couldn't believe this. She'd been completely oblivious to the troublemakers in the back of the room, snickering and tossing about their work. Yet, a single pencil being broken out of frustration... This, she managed to catch. Sitting up, he fought away the voice that demanded she fuck off, nervously scanning the ground just below her feet. "I-I'd rather not," he mumbled as he swallowed his rising bile. "I'm sorry, I- uh, it won't happen again."

The teacher hardly appeared satisfied. However, she didn't press the issue further. How could she? It was only a pencil, after all. Instead, she silently lifted her arm and pointed towards the sharpener against a nearby wall. Leopold stood, knowing better than to comment that he had another pencil. He didn't want this moment to last longer than necessary. The snickers of his peers followed him the entire way to the sharpener. The sound of it grinding away the tip of his utensil was louder than he liked, much louder than it seemed to be with the people around him. Quietly, he promised revenge.

It was empty. But then, so was everything about Leopold.

§

There was always something in life that made even the most saddest of people brighter. Whether it be sex, drugs, literature, music, art, it didn't matter. For Leopold, it was a girl. The most beautiful he'd ever seen, too. She had long red hair that spiked just above her overly developed breasts, her eyes the brightest set of green that could mesmerize anyone within a five mile radius. If she were to step out into a highway full of oncoming traffic, even the most busiest of truckers would halt just for the opportunity to stare at her.

Lexus Evermore.

She was the only one who had managed to grab the attention of Leopold. It was by chance that the blonde had curiously ventured past the double doors of their well known _Hooters,_ Lexus had been his waitress then and was the only girl in the entire universe to show even an ounce of interest in him. Ever since then, Leopold had spent any earnings handed to him on her attention. Even now, he stared longingly at her figure as she flirted with another group of men seated in her section of the restaurant. He wanted nothing more than to pull her close, tell her that she was far too good for a shallow establishment such as this. He could see her beauty shine through her many layers of purple eyeshadow, the tough spirit she drove to burn within her eyes. And, Leopold thought, you certainly didn't have any choice but to be stronger if you worked in a place that made you stick out your chest and bat a pair of long, black lashes. It made her only that much more admirable.

Leopold sat alone at a table, a dizzy smile gracing his features as he watched the way she moved across the restaurant, delivering orders and making the opposite sex swoon over her perfection. What a prize she would be, Leopold believed. If she were his, he'd never need anything else. Not respect, recognition, nothing. Lexus, he knew, was his everything.

Finally, it was his turn. She came striding over to him with her sparkling eyes and ditzy optimism. Her notepad waited eagerly in one hand and she drew away a pen from behind her ear. "Hi Butters!" She greeted cheerfully. Despite himself, Leopold flushed at the nickname given to him. "I'm really happy you decided to show up. You have no idea how glad I am to see you, all of these men seem to forget that I'm human."

Leopold flicked his gaze towards the group of males she might've been referring to. They sat close together, laughing heartily and clinking together their oversized mugs of alcohol. It made the boy frown as he watched this, Lexus was far too good for their treatment over her. "You know," he answered, watching as she pulled up a stool right before him. "You could always just quit. I-I'm sure you're, uh, really talented in lots of d-different areas. You deserve b-better than this."

Lexus huffed out a breath of amusement, lowering her eyes and grinning only a bit. "You're sweet, Butters." She replied softly. She reached out to lightly touch his knee, and they both froze. In that instant, a content silence overtook them. Leopold stared into her eyes, and he briefly wondered what might've happened, had he the courage to kiss her. She tilted her head, tongue running lightly over the bottom of her glossed lips, and then she pulled away. The moment was over, just like that. Suddenly, the air wasn't so thick.

"You know what," she said before rising from the stool. "I'm gonna bring you what you always order. On me." With a suggestive wink in his direction, Lexus turned and proceeded off towards the order window, writing away at her pad of paper. Leopold watched her the whole way, heart pounding like a mallet in his chest. Perhaps, his feelings were being returned to him. And perhaps, the world _wasn't_ completely against him.

The bell jingled as the doors were suddenly opened and a whoosh of cold air came in to briefly fight off the indoor heating. Leopold remained unaware as Craig entered with his posse, each one of them shaking and brushing away the snow. A perky blonde came to greet them and show them towards a table. However, Craig had different plans once his light brown eyes traveled towards the lovesick boy still drooling over the favored waitress.

Craig smirked, walking past the girl and waving for his friends to follow his lead. He plopped himself right beside Leopold, throwing an arm around his shoulders and flinching him from his reverie. "Well," chuckled the darker haired male. "Look who came to the party. And it looks to me like a certain someone has caught your eye."

Leopold didn't answer, instead hunching into himself and looking away towards the ground. Showing submission normally made Craig leave. But apparently, tonight, he had different intentions. "Hey," he growled. His mitted hands gripped the side of Leopold's head and he forced his eyes back up towards the girl he had been gawking at. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Lexus is hot as _fuck_ isn't she?"

Again, Leopold didn't offer an answer. He gazed away from the redhead, pulling his head out of Craig's grip as he found himself highly upset and shameful. It was terrible that Craig had the power to do that. He made Leopold feel bad, and yet he didn't even have to really _do_ anything deserving of this. The boys surrounding him laughed, Craig slapped his back a bit harder than what might've been perceived as friendly. "I'm just messing with you," he chuckled, gripping his victim's shoulder tightly. "But you need to realize that she isn't _yours_ to stare at anymore. Understand?"

No, he didn't. But something told Leopold that he _really_ didn't want to either. So, rather than respond, he still behaved as though words evaded him. Craig raised a slick black brow at this, still not about to walk away and let him alone. "Here," he said lowly, standing from the boy's side. "I'll give a demonstration."

He knew it would've been stupid to watch. But there his eyes went, following after the Tucker as he approached Lexus, who was chatting openly with a coworker. His fingers curled around the back of her neck and he bent her backwards. She only managed to murmur out a surprised "Craig-" before his lips came crashing against her own.

It wasn't too shocking to see Craig perform such an act on an unsuspecting female. What _was_ surprising, however, was the way her arms wrapped around his neck, the way her leg bent up, and the way she moved her mouth in return to his. Now Leopold fully understood. She wasn't his to stare at anymore. _She wasn't his at all._

Leopold could no longer stay put. How could it be suspected of one to watch all of his happiness show favor over all that meant him harm? He stood abruptly, ignoring the sharp words flung at him by the remainder of the group he despised with a flaring passion. His body burst clumsily out the doors, straight into the freezing atmosphere of the night.

The gentle fall of snow had turned into a harsh rage of hail, but Leopold hardly felt it past the painful knock against his skull. He'd ran for what seemed like forever, his skin became paler than what was considered normal and his lips turned a very dark shade of blue. His foot slipped on a patch of ice on the road and he landed with a hard thud onto the road. The only thing that made him happy. The one source of peace in his life, snatched up by the greedy hands of the cruel. His eyes lifted up towards the sky as the storm raged on, a cry ripping from his throat.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!?"

In answering came the roar of thunder. And then, from between the dark clouds, a white spear of lightning protruded down and struck the boy so suddenly. A scream of pain penetrated through the night. Then, all that could be heard was the heavy downpour of hail.


	2. Introduction 1: Every Town Needs a Coon

Eric Cartman, perhaps the most devious of characters in this tale, even more so than our obvious antagonist. His stormy gray eyes looked out over the town of South Park from atop a balcony. From afar, it appeared so peaceful, so without ruckus. The perfect place to live for the fragile hearted.

Cartman deemed people naive or new if they were to actually believe such a thing. The quiet nature of this wretched town was only the simple illusion of the night. Right now, as he stood perfectly still, a girl was being raped. A family, robbed from. A child, abducted. And so on. He knew these crimes were happening because he found himself to be the victim of one of them.

Long ago was life brighter for Cartman. He had a very loving mother who worshipped the earth he walked on, and a strict father who was constantly pushing for his son's success. During those times, Cartman had worn his father's name with pride. There wasn't anyone in the world who would ever disrespect Eric Senior. Cartman longed to be just like him. So tall, powerful, loved.

Nobody saw this coming. The evening where a crazed convict had broken out of jail and pointed a gun towards his father, claiming that he was the reason for being placed behind bars. Eric wasn't even a lawyer. No, he was a respectively successful surgeon. Still, he shooed away his family from the dinner table, promising to meet them in the panic room.

Cartman and his mother had huddled together within a cellar beneath the floorboards, both flinching at the treacherous bang of a gunshot, and then an even worse elapse of silence. The sound of sirens relieved them and they were found safely by the authorities. Sadly enough, his father hadn't made it through the bullet that had pierced right through his left eye.

Seeing your father lying dead on the floor with a single eye blown in the most grotesque way should've deeply traumatized a young eleven year old. Perhaps, in a way, it had. But all Cartman ever felt was numb. He traded his smile for a frown, lost contact with his friends, barely left his manor for the sake of education. He even went as far as indulging his unfelt sorrows with food, gaining more and more by the pound. And most of all, he was to be called Cartman from then on.

His mother was the one to crumble far more in comparison. She turned to drugs and alcohol, seeing as they offered brief moments of bliss and hallucinations that led to the misconception of a perfect family. She opened her legs for the highest bidder at these times, as though she could fill the void of grief with another man's cock. Disgraceful. It was a slap in the face to a husband she once loved.

This was all five years ago. And since the proper help wasn't received to either one of them, they still suffered in silence. Cartman held strong suspicion that he would outlive his mother by more years than expected.

Her voice carried out from the hallway as she cried for her son. "Eric! Eric, where are you!?" Cartman hesitated a moment, releasing a sigh of regret at the putrid whine he'd grown terribly accustomed to. Wonderment dawned on him, however. Was she sobbing for her only child? Or for her lost and forgotten husband. Deciding it wasn't worth the risk of having her leave her room, Cartman hurried off to answer the call.

When he pushed through his mother's doors, it hardly took much searching through the darkness to finally come across Lianne. She sat beside her bed, arms sprawled across the sheets and face planted pathetically in the mattress. The foul stench of vomit stung the round boy's nostrils, making him instantly recoil into the doorway. No doubt, his mother had allowed herself to be sucked away this time by the flask Cartman had once believed he did well to hide.

He kicked aside a stray bottle of vodka, it's contents emptied since last month. Lianne could barely manage to clean in here, even less give herself a good grooming. The clatter, however, disturbed her sorrowful solitude and her head lifted to gaze in forlorn at the shadow that stood right before her. Despite their dark quality, only his eyes were his most distributed features in that moment.

"Dear," she moaned to the silhouette sadly, reaching out for his affections.

Cartman, however, remained stubbornly placed. If he could get through this ridiculous exchange without making contact with the vile woman that  
layed in tears before him, then there wasn't any need for movement. "What do you want?" His voice came cracking out like a whip, even managing to make Lianne flinch back as though she had been struck. Cartman didn't feel bad. No, that ship had long since departed from the coast.

At last, he was only dispassionate towards the remainder of his flesh and blood.

"I just missed you," she mumbled as her arms dropped awkwardly at her sides. She stared up at  
him through glassy eyes, but Cartman knew much better than to believe that she was actually here for once. Lianne Cartman was only sober when she fell prey to sleep.

Her once vibrant green gaze searched his desperately, trying uselessly to find any trace of the son she once had. The man he might've even grown up as. She couldn't seem to find familiarity within his cold, unsympathetic demeanor. She was in denial over this, however. Why would anyone wish to believe they'd lost all they ever loved? "Eric," she murmured in voice that almost seemed to beg for his good graces. Of course, it certainly wouldn't be delivered anytime soon. "Please, just come here to me. Let me hold you just for a little while, just like I used to."

Cartman almost scoffed at this, his eyes hardening quite drastically as he stared at this pitiful excuse for a parent. Fat chance of _that_ ever happening. He wouldn't ever let this woman touch him again, so long as he stood the way he did now. Tall, overly confident, merciless. This was who he was now. Lianne was constantly mistaking him for Eric each time she demanded his presence.

Cartman wished the hose was long enough to pull upstairs into this very room. He wouldn't hesitate to spray her on high blast if given the chance. Not only would she be getting a well deserved rinse of something that wasn't meant to take away your train of thought, but he'd be giving her something _real_ to wail about. His fingers curled into his palms and he took a step away from her.

"Sorry mom," he sighed impatiently, irritated that she had interrupted him for more of her melodramatic antics. "But I'm a bit busy, I'm buried in homework and I'd much rather be doing that than pretending that we're still mother and son." His mother's face crumpled into an expression of pain, but Cartman shut the door before she could say anything further.

He didn't want to go through this again, didn't deserve this type of torture. Had Cartman chosen not to shut out the weaker emotions, something like this would've shattered him into a little boy again. _Eric_ would've gladly ran into his mother's open arms, filth ridden or not. He would've fooled himself into believing that Lianne would get better and they'd be happy together again.

Cartman knew better than that. The world was a cruel, desolate place that turned it's back on the bright eyed and unrolled the welcome mat for all things evil. This thought lingered in his mind as he traveled down the straight hallways, shutting out the horrible weeping that came from his mother. Planet Earth sucked. It needed something, anything, to be shoved back into place.

Why couldn't Cartman be the one to do so?

§

Days turned to weeks, which proceeded into months, and even became a full year that Cartman trained harder than anything before with his fighting instructors. Forever, it seemed quite hopeless that he would ever have the ability to kick ass the way he longed to. However, being the resilient young man that he was, Cartman resisted the will to bail.

Finally, Cartman deemed himself as ready. It didn't matter what his teachers thought, he knew he could finally do what he'd always longed for. Now, he just needed to create a persona...

The night air blew its icy wind through the chocolate brown locks of Cartman's hair. His dark eyes watched the moon as it floated gracefully with the wispy clouds, a breath came past his lips. He'd spent so many wasted hours in his room, drawing out crude sketches of what type of savior he had wanted to be. But nothing seemed to suit him quite right. Nothing really rolled off the tongue the way he wanted. As a child, this would've been his favorite part of the entire process. The mark he would leave on this red neck, white trash town. Now that he led the life of a proud seventeen year old, his imagination evaded him. It didn't spark anymore, wasn't full of life and wonderment. His lack of desire to fantasize left that part of his mind rusted in cobwebs. You couldn't simply turn something like that back on.

Something scurried at his feet, Cartman lowered his eyes to gaze adoringly at a familiar black mask covered across large, obsidian eyes. "Hello, Thief." He smiled before reaching into the pocket of his red jacket. His fingers pulled out a piece of white bread, and he offered it happily to the little racoon that came once more to greet him.

The critter reached out with tiny, inky claws. It swiped away the treat and proceeded to nibble away the food in such a greedy notion. Cartman chuckled, reaching out to scratch behind its ear. Raccoons, he had long since decided, were the best pets anyone could have. Sure, they raided your garbage and damaged your crops. But Cartman's utter love for this particular animal forced away any fault they had. In his opinion, every town needed a raccoon.

And then it hit him.

§

A pair of black stilettos clicked faintly against the concrete as one particular woman ran desperately from shadows. She constantly looked over her shoulder for any sign of something trailing after her, any bypassers she rushed past moved to get out of her way. She made a last minute turn around a corner, running desperately through a dark ally and pressing on towards the other side with all the might she had.

And simply because the night was against her, she felt her foot slip out from underneath a puddle and she fell forward, straight into it. The murky liquid splashed up around her, drenching her from head to toe. Her breaths huffed out rapidly, her gaze scanning the fog around her. There wasn't any sign of life, she appeared to be completely alone. Quietly, she proceeded to wonder whether or not this was good or bad...

Silence envoped the entire scene, the girl slowly moved to stand up as a chill traveled like ice shards down her back. Her arms wrapped securely around her frigid frame and she began to make her journey towards the exit of the ally. However, as soon as she turned to make her retreat, a tall body blocked her path.

She gasped sharply, cowering back from the man and turning to take flight once more. A massive hand grasped her arm with bone crushing strength and a cry emitted past her lips. She was thrown harshly to the ground, forcing a groan to respond to the throb of pain throughout her body.

The man stepped forward, floppy brown hair slicked with grease and sweat, eyes wild with cruel intentions. "You shouldn't of left me," he whispered, fingers quivering with anticipation as he approached slowly. "Why Emily? Can't you see that I'm absolutely _nothing_ without you!?"

The girl, Emily, whimpered from below as she lifted an arm in futile attempt to protect her. "P-please," she begged softly, tears welling in her eyes as she shuffled back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Just _shut up Emily!"_ The man reached up to grip his long hair and pull, breathing erratic and out of time. "I need to fucking think and I can't _do_ that with your whining!" Silent tears traveled like raindrops down the girl's cheeks as she released a silent prayer to whoever was listening. She needed to live!

Finally, a rancid cloud of air came spilling from his mouth. Grinning terribly, he looked down at the girl he would soon victimize in his own twisted version of revenge. "Maybe," he chuckled lightly as he reached towards her. "You just need to be reminded of what you're trying to give up."

Emily felt her heart race quicker than a rabbit's as she watched in horror at her dark fate in the face of a man she believed she once loved. His hands grabbed her shoulders, a scream came tearing from her throat as all other options failed her. And then a gruff voice cut through the terror.

 _"Let her go!"_

Both characters froze, eyes maneuvering up to gaze in curiosity at the hunched shadow that knelt upon a rooftop. Two ears pricked up like an animal's atop his head. While the girl tilted her head to one side in question, the man burst out into laughter, standing and turning to face it curiously. "The fuck is this?" He asked in a disbelieving tone.

In response, the figure leapt silently from the roof, his cape following him down in a single _whoosh!_ The silhouette landed in a crouch, eyes seeming to glow white in such a menacing glow. "This is your end," growled what appeared to be a little boy in a rat costume.

Again, a dark fit of laughter came bubbling up from the man. Cracking his knuckles in a sickening sound, the man came closer. "Isn't it past your bedtime, boy?" He mocked. "Maybe a good ass whooping'll teach you to stay indoors with mommy."

The boy threw his hands out at his sides to reveal a deadly pair of claws glinting with bloodlust in the moonlight. A wicked grin crossed along the plump stranger's lips and he rose slowly from his position. "Actually," he chuckled. "It is _you_ who will learn their place very quickly. And then, all will know of their greatest hero." The boy crossed his claws before himself, the girl breathed deeply at the wondrous sight.

"I am The Coon."

He darted forth with a slash of his deadly might.


	3. Introduction 2: You Should Fuck Off

A little boy watched in wonderment as his brightly colored kite floated ever so gracefully in the bright blue sky. He was deeply proud of this one in particular, and that was becauseright blue sky. He was deeply proud of this one in particular, and that was because he had made it from scratch. His little five year old fingers had spent hours piecing together fabric and wood until it stood out beautifully against his playmate's own kites.

It wasn't as though his parents couldn't buy him one if he pleaded hard enough. His father lived his days as a very successful scientist after all. Well, actually, he had _once_ been very successful. However, nowadays, he spent his days trying to indulge into what most qualified as inane psychopathy. He was obsessed with being God, trying desperately to create his own species, hybrid animals, anything that would invent a genius out of himself. Money was going down the drain for many failed experiments. Several times had his father been arrested for 'animal abuse.' And his bail forced them further into the dark.

His poor mother was forced to work twice as hard just so that she could manage to put dinner on the table. The struggle was evident, and his father, Gerald Broflovski, couldn't so much as step foot from that basement of his.

Everyone thought that Gerald was a mad man, unfit to be a father and husband. Perhaps they were right, but Kyle deeply disagreed. Like every young boy, he looked fondly up to his father and believed constantly that he was going to become the greatest man who ever lived. Kyle wanted to be just like him one day, which is why he spent his days trying to lengthen his intellect far more than the average youth. Especially in this little pissant town.

Kyle swiftly reeled in his precious work, bent on showing his father as he wasted away below the house. Certainly, he'd receive the utmost praise in return for all of his hard work. Clutching the item tightly, he scrurried off towards his haven, muttering a swift hello to his mother as she sipped tiredly at her tea. She only had a single hour, then it was off to the diner to continue her work. Kyle skipped the steps down into the musty basement his father resided within.

Scattered tools and old models lied everywhere in the background, lined with spiderwebs and dust. Gerald's frustrated mutterings came echoing all around, next was the mission of finding him. "Daddy?" Kyle asked, his emerald eyes searching the dimly lit space around him. Another grumble, and then something clattered loudly.

Kyle might've been afraid, had he not learned at a younger age that monster's didn't _actually_ live among them. His feet scampered impatiently along the floor as he continued a seemingly futile search. "Dad- _oof!"_ Kyle accidentally stumbled upon a large appearing stand with too many buttons, switches and blinking lights to possibly understand. His head spun with amazement.

Perhaps, if he were to figure something as complex as this out, he'd be put even farther within his father's favor! Maybe he'd even be given the privilege of assisting Gerald with his experiments! Kyle rotated his kite into one hand as he stared wide eyed at the difficult model. He had to be absolutely precise.

In every cliche invention, a big red button was how you began something like this. Keeping this in mind, Kyle's eyes searched until they fell upon exactly what he was looking for. The heel of his hand smashed excitedly into it, and the pad spoke up in an automated voice tone.

 _"Splice Machine powering up. One moment, Doctor Broflovski."_

Kyle's eyes widened happily. The voice believed this was his father! That must've made him just as respectable. Several feet away, another large machine lit up its bright neon green color, a low hum resounding as it worked. It was tall, only reaching a few inches below the ceiling, and it took up the shape of a cylinder with a long slab of glass keeping the inside out of reach. Kyle gasped, eyes wide with awe and fascination. But what did it do?

What was _splicing?_

His excitement overrode his patience, an issue he couldn't seem to set back as a young boy. His hands flattened against the many buttons and knobs and he slid them back and forth, as one untalented might abuse a grand piano. The pad flashed while the voice repeated _"error"_ In a toneless voice. Still, Kyle did not relent. He pounded his fists harshly against the controls and demanded they work in his favor. Surely, his father hadn't made this too difficult to command.

At last, a red light flashed within the other machine before the panel, the glass slid open with a slight wheeze. _"Thirty seconds before splicing begins,"_ came the voice once more. _"Please place items within the machine at this time."_

The words were meaningless to Kyle as he stared up in awe towards the object. A swell of pride moved him forward, excitement definite along his features as he pressed forward, towards the entrance. He stepped inside of a filtered yellow light, his bright emerald eyes scanning above himself curiously. How boring. There wasn't anything fascinating in here.

"KYLE!"

The boy spun at the sharp sound of his father's voice. And just as it happened, the glass eased shut and sealed away his escape. Kyle panicked once he realized control had suddenly fled from him, and everything was out of his hands. Kyle reached out to press his hands against the glass as he called desperately to his father to let him out. His father was shouting something, perhaps his name. He couldn't understand over the shrieking alarm that went off within the machine that held him captive. The ceiling opened suddenly, and grey fog came falling gracefully down to envelope him. Kyle backed away, kite clutched tightly to his chest as he searched upward for his solutions. There appeared to be none.

Beyond the machine, Gerald Broflovski was using everything he could to shatter the glass. His only successfully born son had taken off to have his genes spliced with a _kite._ The outcome would certainly be horrendous. Disastrous even. When his fists failed, he rushed for a chair. And when that proved useless, he threw the heaviest of his failed inventions. Every item thrown his way easily bounced back. High quality glass made from his own hands. Only the best from Gerald Broflovski.

His son's cries emitted in a muffle past the fog, Gerald rushed towards his panel. He used every method to demand the machine to abort its current subject, ignoring the red flashing light that meant this simply could not be done. He froze when the screaming ceased suddenly, the glass slid slowly open and dark smoke came pouring out.

Gerald moved ever so slowly towards the machine, his fists clenched painfully at his sides as he wearily searched for any sign of life. "K-Kyle?" He called. He had to be alive. He simply _had_ to be. What would he tell Sheila? And Ike, their newly adopted Canadian baby. He'd have to grow up without a big brother...

Finally, a sharp gasp surveyed and out stumbled Kyle with his eyes sealed shut and tears streaming down his cheeks. "P-please," he moaned before dropping down in agony to his hands and knees. "Daddy, my eyes! They burn! Everything hurts!"

Gerald rushed to his son's aide at once, crouching down and overlooking his condition. The kite he had been gripping earlier was no longer within his fingers, but rather splayed out across his back. Gerald reached out to try and take it away, only to immediately stop when he found something odd. In the bottom left part of the kite, colored a bright red, he could see the faintest hint of veins webbing straight throughout the entire thing. The kite had become _part_ of him now!

Gerald felt his hands shake, a burst of horror and pride battled for dominance within himself. It worked. The Splicing Machine had been a success. "Kyle," he whispered, running his hand down the kite curiously. The young boy flinched at the contact, he could _feel_ it! "Kyle, open your eyes, let me see."

Kyle twisted his head around to try and acknowledge his father's voice, eyes prying apart. As soon as he attempted to see, a bright red light came shooting it's dangerous energy straight from the circles of his pupils. Gerald dodged just in time to avoid getting hit, watching in amazement as the light cut straight through a stray chair, as easy as a knife sinking into warm butter. Laser eyes? An odd addition Gerald would have to look into later. Kyle's eyes squeezed shut and he let out a loud sob of regret and pain. "I'm a freak!" He cried out.

"No son," Gerald whispered before pulling the boy securely into his arms. "Not a freak. You're beautiful. I'll never be called crazy again."

Kyle shivered in his father's arms, refusing to ever again open his eyes. He was beyond petrified. No doubt, the government would come for him. He'd be tested on for years to come, never again would he live a normal childhood. "W...what?" Kyle lifted his head towards his father's chin, still shaking and made blind.

Gerald continued to stroke his son's hair, but he was far gone into his mind to notice much else. His days as a mad scientist were finally at it's wits end. The public would love him once more, and he'd become enriched with adoration and wealth. A dizzy smile came across his features and he looked down at his winning ticket. Sure, the boy was a wreck for the time being. But all Gerald needed to do was get him to see the brighter side. All he needed, certainly, was a bit of optimism to confuse his mind.

"I am a genius..."

§

During the traumatic change within the machine, Kyle had destroyed the inside fully in desperate attempts to end his suffering. The machine no longer worked. And despite his best efforts, Gerald simply could not recreate the master piece. His last resort was his less than enthusiastic son. Many times, he begged the boy to come out of hiding and reveal to the world the beauty of his kite.

Naturally, Kyle had rejected the idea each time it was brought up. While the promise of fame and fortune did sound luxurious even to a child who did not normally desire materialism as much as the grown, he couldn't stand the idea of becoming a freak to the world. He wasn't human anymore. Far below it for that matter. But nobody else needed to know that.

Kyle had learned to harness his laser eyes to his control. By will, he could make them shoot out whenever he pleased. But he never did. He couldn't without the reminder that he was indeed far from normal. The kite was beginning to become less and less of a problem the longer he went about his life. He wore a heavily padded orange jacket whenever he ventured beyond his bedroom. Certainly, it crumpled and pained the object. But it was highly worth the privilege of getting to be a chip off the ol'block type of child for the time being. Just before reality settled in at least.

However, his condition finally drew back the attention he'd tried for two years to maintain. Now seven years old, Kyle stood before his mirror without his shirt. His emerald eyes glared at the wooden edges that sprouted past his shoulders, a knife glinted dangerously in his hand. His playmate, Kevin Stoley, had invited him to a pool party at his house only a few days ago. It would take place tomorrow evening, and if this kite remained in his back while attending that party...

His tiny wrist shook as he lifted the blade. He knew that this would certainly hurt more than he might've guessed, he could feel the throb of fear within the colorful cloth. It was unnatural. He needed to end this before it took over his life.

Kyle reached back and brushed his fingers along the kite's exterior, flinching slightly at the feel. He was greatly sensitive there, like a bird's wings were to a general bird. The thought frightened him, and he reluctantly lifted the knife to prod at the material. He focused on his own gaze, silently counting to ten. This was the price of normality. And he'd certainly be willing to pay it if his life was returned. Making his decision, he stabbed his knife deep into the kite and sliced down through it.

The sound resembled ripping paper, and the pain was intense enough to fill his vision with white. The knife clattered to the tile floor as a cry of agony echoed fiercely throughout the bathroom. The boy dropped to his knees and tears poured from his eyes like crystal droplets down his cheeks. Blood seeped a warm crimson pool around him and a woozy dizziness took over that Kyle had never been accustomed with before. A protesting grunt was all he could manage before he collapsed in a heap upon the ground.

§

It had been ten years since the incident in the bathroom. Kyle Broflovski was now seventeen years old, and he was far different from the boy he once was. Still, he was indeed a medical marvel. Still, he kept the fact hidden from the world around him. His mother hadn't any idea over the issue, nor did his brother Ike. The only person aware of his condition was, unfortunately, his father. And his persistence had finally faded. Finding your son bleeding on the bathroom floor due to a desperation to be normal could do that to a father. But the idea that he still loved his first born was hardly a matter of concern in Kyle's mind.

For him, the world was something he planned on conquering with his own talents. He would start with this bullshit little town infamously known as South Park. It needed changing, Kyle had put up with its harshness long enough. Or so he happily believed.

Of course, he would need to learn to swallow his temper if he wished to live the life of a professional. Anger was a difficult weakness he'd grown into ever since this blasted kite grew into his back. So was his ability of compassion. He hated the thought of being surpassed by anyone, which was quite easy considering his condition. But nobody needed to know that.

Kyle's intelligence was beyond average. The only person who could ever hope to match his smarts was that damn Wendy Testaburger. A worthy opponent, he would admit, she and him were mortal enemies with far too much in common. For example, they both suffered dastardly from pride. The tiniest mistake made on their part was never taken lightly, and neither of them had the audacity to admit a wrong doing no matter how clear it seemed.

Of course, they both jumped at the chance to use this against one another.

Beyond Kyle's school life was absolutely nothing. He was a teenager of pain and sadness, one who didn't ever let this show. He walked tall with his head high and his strides long. No one would ever suspect to believe that underneath this exterior was a freak slowly breaking down. That's just what he wanted. This planet was constantly up for grabs, he found himself worthy to be in the running.

Kite or no kite. One did not fuck with Kyle Broflovski.  
 **  
**


	4. Introduction 3: Let Him Go Dude

Stanley Marsh had fallen in love with only two women so far in his entire life span. The first girl to ever catch his attention was the ever so perfect Wendy Testaburger. A child prodigy, she appeared to be. She was gifted with an intelligence beyond the norm, her singing voice was the type of raw talent most producers would absolutely kill to manipulate, and she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever layed eyes on.

The first time he met Wendy was in second grade. Stan had taken interest with his friends in bullying a tiny blonde with big square rimmed glasses and a ridiculously noticeable overbite. Her name had been Bebe Stevens, and she was Wendy's dearest company.

A little girl dressed head to toe in pink with long black hair flowing freely behind her had approached them on the playground. Without so much as a warning, Stan had received a face full of snow and a harsh kick in the gut before he looked up in astonishment to watch Wendy lead Bebe towards the school. Nobody had ever stood up to him in such a way, and Stan felt himself spiraling into something completely foreign to him. It rumbled warmly in his chest, and boy was it pleasant.

Stan spent his school days watching her in a daze ever since the incident. He loved to watch her write and study the most. The way her eyes flicked over the pages or followed her pencil to ensure no mistakes were made, and sometimes he'd notice the way her forehead crinkled ever so slightly in her deep concentration. She worked hard, way too hard in Stan's opinion and he desperately wanted to fill her with something other than determination. She had plenty of that practically seeping past her pores. She just needed to relax.

In third grade, Stan had approached Wendy on the playground and shyly asked for her private attention. Reluctantly, she left her friends behind to see what he wanted. Stan was always staring at her, after all. And she had half a mind to break him down for it. His dark blue eyes distracted her so...

Neither of them had really expected the kiss Stan presented her with against her cheek. For the first time, Wendy was left thoughtless and speechless. No boy had ever shown her this type of affection before. How she managed to steal away the attention of someone as popular as _the_ Stanley Marsh, she didn't have the answer. Silently, she ran calculations in her mind. This had to be a trap. A way to get back at her for humiliating him that one day in second grade.

While she remained still and quiet in utter disbelief, Stan quickly took advantage to speak his mind. There, beneath the arched tree, Stan confessed his deep love for her and the effect she had on him. While he certainly wasn't poetic, Wendy found the proclamation sweet and heart warming. Again, people didn't ever gaze at _her_ in awe. Just her talents. Was that even important to Stan? She wondered. If Wendy hadn't been so gifted, would he still love her the same?

There was only one way to find out. Cautiously, she agreed to be his girlfriend.

The next two and a half years had been the happiest of Stan's life. He treated Wendy the way you would royalty. Everyday, he would reveal something about her that he adored deeply, and she rewarded him through affection and promises to stay forever. It could be easily argued that a boy and a girl so young couldn't possibly comprehend the definition of love. But all one had to really do was watch them together, observe the way they gazed at one another with an overwhelming display of affection. Undoubtedly, it was there. Stan was in love.

However, that all came to an abrupt end in sixth grade, when Wendy had suddenly claimed to no longer feel such a way. Stunned that he was being dismissed as hers, he desperately asked if he'd done something to upset her in some way. She didn't answer, and it seemed as though she were just as pained to be doing this as much as he was to be hearing it. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek and he bent forward to touch his forehead to hers. It was the last time he'd get to be with her like this. In a final attempt to make her stay, he kissed her for the very first time. Wendy's lips used to make him jittery and frightened enough to the point of nausea. Because of this, he had never made a move on her. But when his relationship with her was on the line like this, kissing her seemed like such a miniscule price to pay. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked the way he had wanted. Still, she bid him goodbye.

Internal agony, Stan decided ever since, was far worse than obtaining battle scars.

The second woman to ever draw away his affectionate attention turned out to be his newest next door neighbor. Fifteen years old, Stan sat backwards on his couch, watching as she sunbathed in a lawn chair just outside of her house. Ariel Ellen, absolutely stunning with voluptuous curves, short black hair that stopped just underneath her ears, and echoing dark green eyes. There was just one issue. She was older than Stan by seven years.

She worked as a substitute teacher and often took up the task of directing some of Stan's classes. There, he knew her strictly as _Ms. Ellen_ and resisted the urge to stare. He certainly wasn't the only one who noticed her dazzling good looks. What made Stan different from the rest of his classmates was the fact that sometimes, he could swear she looked at him as well.

Stan had promised to dedicate his high school life to earning a scholarship in football. He wasn't smart, so his slightly below average grades wouldn't get him into Harvard anytime soon. He was good at being a quarterback. Not only did it make him overly looked up to by his peers, but he really enjoyed himself.

He constantly told himself that a girlfriend would only distract him from his goals. Truthfully, ever since the propaganda with Wendy, relationships were a delicate matter.

§

Ms. Ellen had knocked on Stan's door one day. Apparently, her lawn mower was busted and the grass had grown past exceptional standards. She had politely wondered if she could borrow theirs. Stan, in a dizzy state that forced away all logic, had offered to cut the grass himself.

It hadn't taken too long to mow down her lawn. But nobody liked grunt work. For the entire time he spent doing this, he found himself wondering just what had come over him to offer such hard work from himself. All that could really register was the idea that her doing this herself made him feel terrible, and a strong desire to do this suddenly overtook.

"Stanley," she called lightly. "Come inside for some lemonade. You've been working very hard."

Stan happily abandoned his work to walk inside the home of the woman he spent hours on end fantasizing over. Her home was very quaint and old fashioned, which Stan found something else to admire over. A simple woman. That was a huge turn around from the last girl that choked his heart with her mere beauty. The only oddity he found was that cage of black rats sitting bunched together upon a shelf. They squeaked obnoxiously as he passed, clawing and gnawing at their bars. Stan's heart went out for them. He had the softest spot for animals.

Ms. Ellen paused just a beat to give them a hard look, to which they silenced as though trained. If Stan hadn't been looking her way in that instant, he would've missed it. "Wow," his throat was incredibly dry and he forced himself to swallow. "That's amazing. You made them go quiet with only a look."

Ms. Ellen's smile was sugary and she shrugged bashfully in reply. "Well," she giggled. "They of course need to be trained. Otherwise, they'd be quite obnoxious all day long."

They entered her kitchen together. Ms. Ellen waved him towards a chair next to a tiny, round table. Stan swiftly obliged and made himself comfortable. His dark blue eyes raked Ms. Ellen's form up and down as she poured two glasses of pink lemonade, her back to him. She was so gorgeous for someone her age, but was it right of him to lust after her the way he did?

"Stanley?" The boy flinched from his daze and hummed in answer to her summon. She spun on her heel and approached in a rather slow manner. Perhaps it was Stan's imagination, but it was almost as though she were purposely behaving this seductively. "I've noticed something about you," she said as she sat across from him. After sliding him a glass, she crossed a single lithe leg over the other and smirked darkly.

Stan tried not to stare as he sipped at his glass. "Oh?" Was all he could manage. Suddenly, the air became much tighter than what was bearable.

She nodded in a way that said she had a dirty secret. All Stan needed to do now was figure out whether or not he wished to know it. "Yes Stanley," she went on, swirling the pink, sour substance in her cup. "I've noticed something quite interesting to say the least. I've noticed that you have a strange tendency to admire me from afar."

Stan nearly choked on his beverage at the accusation, she had noticed! She knew he was interested in her in the most inappropriate manner, and she had brought him here to politely shoot him down. How embarrassing. He spluttered as he attempted to come up with a reasonable excuse for the constant gawking on his behalf. However, he sadly came up short on the mission of self rescue. There was only one, very obvious reason for him to be staring at her the way he always was, and that was a humiliating presentation all on its own.

"I-I didn't mean to...offend or upset you," he mumbled, lowering his gaze shamefully to the floor.

Ms. Ellen smiled brighter, amused at his shy display. She leaned forward then, settling both feet on the ground as she lifted his chin and forced their eyes to meet. "You're cute Stan," she spoke admittedly, Stan quirked a brow of confusion, her hand lowered from his face and rested far too casually upon his thigh. Stan had to suppress a shiver. Ms. Ellen licked her bottom lip as her eyes lowered in a sexy manner. And then she asked in a husky voice, "Have you ever been touched, Stanley?"

Stan couldn't breathe, couldn't think correctly, he couldn't even blink. When Stan was younger, he had been told to hold onto his innocence until the ripe age of seventeen. Now, he couldn't recall why. Without even realizing it, he slowly shook his head. His voice was far too untrustworthy.

Ms. Ellen could slice through glass with her grin. She leaned forward and brushed her deep red lips across his jaw, allowing her hand to slide up his inner thigh. "Would you like to?" She asked, kissing just behind his ear. Stan gripped her shoulders, his uncertainty rising with the rate of his heart. Was this right? He couldn't exactly present her to her parents anytime soon. Or anyone else for that matter. Not only this, but Stan didn't want to go through another heartbreak. Not after Wendy... He pulled her closer to his head, Ms. Ellen's lips helped tremendously with the task of blurring any logical thought.

"Ms. Ellen-"

"Call me Ariel, Stan." She murmured softly against his skin.

And so he did just that. Over, and over, and over again.

§

Stan and Ariel fell into a whirlwind of heat on a regular basis. Each day, she would invite him over just so that they could entangle together once more in her sheets. Many times before, she had excused him from class just for a quickie in the janitor's closet, no longer could Stan pass by it without grinning to himself. He had never felt more like a man than he did with Ariel, the pretty girls who eyed him at school could never do justice. What's even better, he hadn't thought about Wendy even once ever since the substitute. All was well in the life of Stanley Marsh.

Until he made one dreadful mistake.

The candles flickered in Ariel's room, illuminating the bodies of herself and her lover as they lied bare under the sheets. Their hair was slick with sweat, the air was sweet with the luscious scent of _them_ and _passion_. Ariel lied on top of the boy, tracing invisible patterns along his chest with her index finger, a marvelous grin spread softly among her even more marvelous features. "You get better each time," she laughed tiredly. "Your future girl will have me to thank."

There was a drop in her tone that voiced jealousy. Despite himself, the thought of her caring enough to be envious pleased Stan more than it should've. "You're planning on thanking yourself?" He teased as his hands slipped through her short locks. "I wouldn't recommend doing it anywhere someone could catch you. They might think you're weird."

Ariel gazed gently at him. It exacted the way Wendy had once looked his way, it made Stan's heart thump happily, but also ache for something else. Something he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge while another girl was in his arms. "Stanley," she murmured, brushing her lips against his collarbone. "Tell me that you'd do anything for me. No matter the cost, I need to know that you'll always do whatever I need from you."

Stan watched her in utter adoration. The desperation in her voice sounded odd, certainly. But he was too lost in her eyes to possibly notice much else in this world, all of his reason belonged strictly to _her._ "I'd do anything for you," he promised softly.

§

Stan turned sixteen when it all went up in flames. He was sitting alone in the shed, admiring the power tools his father was so proud to own. Stan could hardly wait until he bought his first set. Perhaps he had accidentally brushed his thumb along the button of the drill he had been holding. But the sound of it screeching to life made him jump right out of his skin, and he dropped the item with a loud clatter. The drill shut off at once.

Something with less explanation happened the very next day. His mother had given Stan her CD player, asking that he unscrew the back of it so she could retrieve the useless batteries within. Unfortunately, this portable little music device was beyond his time (dramatically put) and the screws required a special drill he wasn't sure his father owned. Sure, he could've asked. Sadly, it was Sport's Center time and his dad was most likely drunk, and pretty much undressed.

Stan found himself highly frustrated. It wasn't a big deal, but he hated to disappoint his mother, who worked more often than his father. His desire to get the screws loose must've been _that strong_ because they suddenly popped free from their sockets, one even hit Stan in his eye. Stunned and in pain, Stan stumbled backwards and dropped the player onto the table, rubbing his eye in disbelief. Had he done that?

Discovery after discovery, evidence after evidence, Stan was losing his explanation and mind. It seemed, no matter how much he denied it, he was the cause of each tool's odd behavior. What was even worse, he was forced to deal with it all on his own. His dear Ariel Ellen had abruptly packed up and disappeared without so much as a goodbye. All that was left of her was a note dedicated to him, promising a second meeting. Stan, in a fit of fury and devastation, had torn apart the note and broken several holes in her deserted walls. Why was it that the ones he loved had tendencies to leave him? Did he come on too strong? Stan hadn't exactly ever window shopped for wedding rings or anything.

Well, actually, he had. When he was with Wendy. _Oh Wendy..._

§

Stan was now seventeen years old. He was perfectly aware of this out of no where ability, something that made him much less enthusiastic over life. He seemed to wholeheartedly ditch his friends in return for solitude. Precisely, what would they think of him if they knew he was a freak? Or maybe he didn't _actually_ have mind control over tools the way he thought he did. Maybe it was all in his head. The constant suppression of emotion could drive one mad, correct?

Stan sat up from his bed and glared at the wrench that rested silently upon his mattress. It mocked him in its light, daring him to act upon thought. Stan narrowed his dark blue eyes hatefully. With a single, unspoken command, the object lifted into the air and floated unbelievably before him. Another thought later, the wrench flew forward and stabbed directly through the wall across from him.

Insanity. It had to be insanity.

* * *

 **A/N: Ariel Ellen isn't mine. I based her off of a guest star character from older episodes, where the main character's recieved a hot substitute teacher for their class by the name of Ms. Ellen. All the students fell instantly in love with her, including Stan despite the fact that he was with Wendy, who became _insanely_ jealous over the entire matter. Ms. Ellen is especially OOC in this because it's revealed later on in the episode that she's a lesbian. I don't know what her first name was, it doesn't ever get mentioned. **

**Please also note, any romance which shows in this fic is solely due to the fact that it had sprouted at least once between the two in canon episodes (whether it was one sided or mutually requited). I'm striving not to use OC's or invent pairings that I may personally ship. Naturally, you shouldn't expect any homosexual happenings.**


	5. Introduction 4: I Can't Die

**Thank you guys for the reading and support! Honestly, it makes me especially happy to know that people are enjoying this.  
**

* * *

We've met Eric Cartman; a devious character who's cold personality should've beared him as the antagonist. We've met Kyle Broflovski; a troubled little boy who's unfair life has left him with only his intellect, pride, and heavy dose of rage. We've met Stanley Marsh; a heart that's been broken multiple times by the hands of those he trusted most, in denial of his special abilities.

Unlike our first two who possess unnatural gifts suddenly sprung upon them, this particular character was _born_ with his curse. Or so he can only believe.

Music blasted heavily within the bar Kenny McCormick had settled himself in. He was a stunning creature to behold, his floppy golden locks drizzled over his forehead and into his bright crystal eyes. There didn't appear to be a single flaw in his appearance, except for perhaps the nearly overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke. And still, those around him found even that to be highly attractive. He wielded this power well to a lustful advantage.

"Haley," he summoned the bar tender from her cleansing of glasses. His hand, gloved in brown leather, slid over the beer bottle he had long since drowned. "Give me another one. I feel like hitting rock bottom tonight."

"I swear kid," Haley chuckled as she presented him with another brown bottle. "You're gonna get me shut down if you go on like this."

Kenny was indeed underage, seventeen to be exact. The only reason he got away with the drinks was due to how close he was with Haley. She had scraped him off the streets one point in his life, a single evening where the abuse from his household had left him withered and bloody. Haley, a short redhead with colorful tattoos sleeved up to her shoulders, had brought him inside and told him to let the alcohol numb the pain. It was a terrible, irresponsible lesson to be taught, but Kenny was grateful nonetheless. Deeply. Haley was a young mother to him.

There was once a time when he might've thought about reaching over the counter and giving her the privilege to have his lips pressed into hers. However, Haley didn't play for that team. And the first time he'd had the nerve to grab her ass before the eyes of her customers, he'd kissed her knuckles instead. A painful lesson taught in a language he definitely understood.

Haley was a tough twenty three year old. One who understood what it was like to live on the harder side of life. Now, she didn't have it as rough as Kenny and his other siblings. She'd received special attention on a daily basis from a piece of shit stepfather, the type of attention no woman could ever possibly want.

Kenny, on the other hand, had a different issue. His mother and father were both drunks who fought first verbally, then physically, then proceeded to make up through the beauty of sex. Although, Kenny didn't find their loud bangings and moans even slightly pretty.

His home could hardly be considered such a thing. It was tattered and infested with rats, insects, and filth in general. The bills were hardly ever paid. And when they managed the short time of electricity and water, the lights flickered and attracted even more moths than necessary, and the water from the faucets or showers came pouring out brown. It was an unlivable situation, and Kenny tried his damndest to take the worst of it. His older brother seemed so hopeless, what with how much he was turning into the stupid version of his father. And then there was Karen, a bright eyed eight year old girl who always tried her best to be optimistic.

Kenny loved Karen more than anything in this world. She was the family's final hope to bring a good title to the McCormick name. So, because she was so happy- despite what she went through- Kenny dedicated himself to keeping her that way. Any mistakes made on her part, he was quick to take the heat for. Only because he _knew_ anymore bad would break the sweet child down. He just couldn't stand that.

"Hey Kenny," Haley leaned across the counter as he took a long gulp of his newly given bottle. "Check out the pretty brunette across the way."

Kenny followed the direction she flicked her head, placing down his illegal beverage to stare at the girl Haley was clearly pointing out. She had long, wavy brown hair and hid her true features behind layers of purple eyeshadow and blush. She wore a red and black bustier that happily showed off the ridiculous size of her breasts, undoubtedly plastic. Pretty and needy of attention? That all spelt easy. And _easy_ was just the type of quality Kenny looked for in a girl.

At the moment, she was staring down at her phone, both thumbs working speedily across the screen. Kenny grinned to himself, huffing into his hand and checking his breath. It was laced with alcohol, but that definitely wouldn't slow him down. Haley noticed his self checkup, and she clicked her tongue judgementally. "Don't even think about it," she crossed her arms over her chest. "She's probably older than you, that's for one thing. For another, how do you know your her type? Maybe she likes a girl dressed in leather with long red hair." She raised a pierced brow in challenge at the boy.

Kenny chuckled at the assumption and stuck out his hand, a smirk worming over his face. "Bet," was all he needed to say. Haley returned the grin, then reached out and gave his hand a rough shake.

Kenny ran his tongue over the inside of his bottom lip before spinning around the worn down stool he was on. A low whistle emitted past him, gaining him the attention he was searching for from the girl just across the way. Her dark eyes met his with a sort of curiosity and astonishment, which was how most people appeared whenever they gazed for the first time at someone as good looking as the blonde boy. He sent her a flirtatious wink, it was all he really needed to set the fireworks off. The girl answered with a dramatic giggle of nonexistent innocence, fake lashes batting rapidly.

Haley rolled her eyes, leaning her elbow against the counter and sighing deeply in disappointment. "Alright," she relented quite unhappily. "You win. Go and claim your pretty little prize."

"Not yet," Kenny answered before draining the rest of his beer. He slid the useless bottle towards the female tender, eyes sparking with excitement. "I told you, I plan on becoming extra wasted tonight. Besides, I don't wanna her remember by tomorrow."

§

Three AM. That's when Kenny's drunken self came stumbling into his torn down home, too out of his head to so much as right himself. Everything was a blur, he couldn't really recall ever leaving that girl passed out in the bar's bathroom stall after rewarding himself with her pleasurable cries. Did he ever catch her name? Probably, but that didn't matter.

The darkness was swirling around his vision, he couldn't tell where he was headed. His shoulder bumped into what he guessed was a wall, and he happily leaned against it. His head was spinning pleasantly, he would sleep very well tonight, that was for certain. The price you paid the next day was definitely worth it.

"Kenny?" a tiny voice called from seemingly no where and the intoxicated figure flinched into a slight state of awareness. Shadows were speaking to him, he must've been extra whoozy. Kenny tried to threaten the nothingness and make it shut up before he went completely mad. However, the instant he stepped forward was the instant he crashed right into a lamp standing randomly in his path.

Without much grace, he caught himself from planting face first into the broken tile, but the same could hardly be said for the lamp as it made a shattering sound once it hit the floor. Kenny wasn't too concerned, it probably didn't work anyway.

The light, however, upon the ceiling flickered dully to life. Despite its lacking, it was still bright and sudden enough to burn his sensitive sight and his arm lifted to shield it away. "Kenny," the voice called again to him. So then it wasn't the shadows that had been summoning his name. The voice had grown closer now, and it sounded much more familiar.

Lowering his arm reluctantly, he looked down to find himself staring into a pair of round, hazel eyes. Eyes he recognized and deeply adored. "K-Karen," he murmured as he bent to greet her. The movement, however, took more concentration than he had and he nearly fell right over himself.

Karen shuffled backwards from him, arms wrapping securely around herself as her brows pulled together sadly. "You're drunk," she barked, eyes shimmering with tears. The sight pained Kenny deeply. There was only one girl in this entire universe who ever had the power to bring him to his knees, and that was his darling little sister. Automatically, he moved to comfort her.

"Don't cry," he struggled not to slur as he knelt down and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry Karen, please don't cry."

It was useless. Tears were already beginning to streak down the child's face and she pushed her older brother from herself. She recoiled from him as though he were a stranger in her sibling's clothes, and she angrily shouted at him. "You smell like perfume!" She said. Though her eyes were leaky, they still seemed to glow ferociously. "That means you were out once again breaking hearts! I hope these choices make you happy!" Her voice cracked on the final word and she abruptly turned, fleeing without pulling her face from her hands.

Kenny winced at the sound of her bedroom door slamming, then rolled his bright eyes at the screech that came from his mother's room; a rude demand for silence. Kenny would've loved to chase Karen and promise again to give up this pitiful life. But by now, he knew he was addicted to a dirt personality. Giving Karen his word to change, for the fourth time? He doubted it'd mean jack shit to her.

The guilt managed to eat away his intoxication, but not completely vanquish it. Still, he knew much better than to stick around and try any harder than he could. Karen was hurt once more by himself, he understood her desire to be away from him. Deciding he'd make it easier, Kenny turned and started for the door.

§

The streetlights were useless to the people walking down the sidewalk. They were so lazy with light, they only tended to make a small circle of area visible. Kenny didn't mind too much. Being shrouded in darkness was actually comforting for one in misery. Perhaps it was why the Goths insisted upon parading in black and cutting off the rest of the world for the sake of their own. Kenny reached into his bright orange parka's front pocket, revealing out a packet of cigarettes. Kenny had taken up to smoking when alcohol couldn't be an everyday option. It felt good to suck up and become addicted to the dangerous ash of this particular mongrel he held with almost too much familiarity.

It numbed his bones and brought him cold rather than warmth. Cigarettes made him feel dead. And, speaking from a certain experience, that was better.

Kenny parked himself up against a brick wall and lost himself in the puffing of gray toxin. This was around the time that he'd backtrack all the bad that had happened. He hadn't broken a heart at least. No, whoever that girl was? Her heart had long since been shattered, Kenny merely reminded her that the pieces still needed picking up.

And then there was Karen, his dear little sister. The poor soul was now sobbing over a brother she believed to be losing. And perhaps, that's precisely what was happening. However, Kenny had yet to jump from his dishonorable ways and change himself for her sake. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to, because he honestly _did._ It was that he simply didn't know how to. Or even, was he able to?

"Hey kid!" A voice barked into the night and Kenny found himself discouraged to have his solitude interrupted. He didn't answer. Instead, his bright blue eyes flicked towards the silhouette of a man approaching through the darkness. When he stepped into the streetlamp, he revealed himself as a rather tall person with greasy brown locks and a scruffy beard. A smile cracked across his face, giving a show of yellow teeth with a few missing from necessary slots. Kenny regarded him in irritation, bringing the cigarette to his lips and making the lit end glow brighter. Still, he did not speak.

The man shoved a harry hand into his pocket as he came closer. He nodded to the poisonous item in the blond's fingers and asked in a voice like sandpaper, "can I bum one off of you?"

Kenny released the smoke from his nostrils as he further observed the stranger. For a moment, he felt as though he were staring into a mirror, glimpsing his future. He could see himself faded of his blessed beauty, walking the streets and prodding teenagers for cigarettes. It was enough to jolt a slight pang of fear from him.

Kenny reached into his pocket and retrieved his pack. Silently, he flipped open the top and held it out generously towards the man. A cigarette was pulled, the nameless face placed it into his mouth and nodded thankfully. "You got a light?" He spoke around the cigarette, Kenny could only nod. He didn't like speaking with the unknown, and he figured that quietly giving this man whatever he wanted would send him away. Then, Kenny would venture home lest he be further bothered by those he saw himself within.

His brown gloved hand sifted through his pockets until he grasped his lighter. Far more trusting than he should've been, he tossed it without warning towards the man. Thankfully, it was caught up in a rugged fist before the ground could crack it. Kenny watched wearily as he lit his cigarette after a few failed flicks of the bic. Then, it was tossed back into his possession.

"Thanks," spoke the man. "You're a nice kid."

Kenny still didn't offer a voice, he only nodded before putting away his lighter and turning back to gaze at nothing. The man took no hints that this little interaction was over. If anything, he took Kenny's stoic behavior as an invitation to continue. He stepped closer to the blonde, puffing smoke between the holes of his teeth as he did so. It was a sickening sight even for Kenny. And suddenly, he no longer wished to relish in his own cigarette. Dropping it to the floor, he squashed out the orange light beneath his shoe. Then, proceeded to turn away.

"Hold on there, kiddo." A massive hand clasped against the boy's shoulder and spun him back towards the stranger. He was still smiling, Kenny was far too reluctant to return it. "You know something," said the man. "You're pretty quiet, and a bit too eager to leave. You got a problem with me or something?"

"No," Kenny finally admitted to his ability to speak. He wrenched himself out from under the filthy palm that kept him captive and backed away. "I'm just not supposed to speak to strangers," his voice came out like a sour mockery that he should've known better than to use in a situation such as this.

The man, however, seemed highly amused by this. Grinning broadly, he pointed his dirt covered finger towards his mouth. "It's the teeth I'm missin', ain't it? S'okay if it bothers a young'n like you. You definitely ain't the first."

Kenny took another step backwards, his eyes wearily searching along this man's distorted features. Did he mean harm? "Look," Kenny decided to ignore the earlier assumption and try once more to leave in peace. "It's getting late, I need to head home before my parents begin to worry."

A white lie, of course. His parents wouldn't concern over his whereabouts until he'd been missing for three days. And rather than call the police, it'd be boos galore. Still though, perhaps making it seem like he had people who would notice his sudden disappearance would make this man hesitant to try anything.

The stranger stepped closer still, trying to refill the space between them as Kenny lengthened it. "You sure you can't stick around for a few minutes longer?"

Kenny shook his head, still refusing to come any closer. "Sorry man," was his final farewell before he turned and sauntered back towards his home. He heard the safety of a gun click off a second too late before a loud _bang!_ resounded through the fog and an almost unbearable pain spread throughout Kenny's back.

Bright blue eyes widened in agony and shock, and when he opened his mouth to speak, only blood coughed out passed his lips. He had been shot. Deciding he was hurting too much for the struggle of survival, Kenny let himself collapse forward first to his knees, then to his chest. He felt hands search his pockets until his wallet was discovered and pulled from his spotted over vision. "Sorry kid," the man's rough voice sounded much farther than it probably was. "But a man's gotta make a living somehow."

Exhaustion took over Kenny's strong desire to curse at this man. With one last breath, his eyes closed and he fell into a state of total oblivion.

§

"KENNY! GET UP, IT'S TIME FOR SCHOOL!"

Kenny blinked open his eyes as his mother's screams competed with the alarm clock at his bedside. Sun filtered in through the torn blinds that hung from his window. His fist came down harshly upon the button of his clock, and he sat up to rub away the sleep from his eyes. No hangover. Although, death normally trumped migraines by very much. He stuck his hand beneath his parka and shirt, feeling his back for any evidence that he had been shot the other night.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing to show for. And the murderous man who had pulled the trigger probably held no recollection of doing so. Kenny stuck his hand into the pocket of his jeans, sighing when he found them empty. Last night supposedly never happened and yet his wallet was still missing. What an imperfect curse.

Kenny sighed as he stretched luxuriously until his bones popped and cracked. Then, he retreated from his bed to begin yet another day in paradise.


	6. Making Friends

A dark pair of tired blue eyes blinked open slow and steady. The vision was blurred, it took a few flickers of his eyelids to adjust to the florescent lighting and the unfamiliar surroundings. Leopold moaned low at the way his chest burned and ached, his head turned from one side to the other as he tested his movement.

"Ah," came a deep voice at his side and the fair haired boy snapped his gaze around towards a man dressed in a long white coat. Undoubtedly, this was his doctor. "Looks like you're finally awake. How's your head feeling? Can you tell me your name?"

The boy blinked, running his tongue back and forth over the inside of his bottom lip. He honestly was in no mood to take the Stupid Quiz at the moment, but he supposed it wouldn't be so terrible to simply get it out of the way. "Leopold Stotch s-sir," his voice came scraping out like a croak, as though it hadn't been used for quite some time.

The doctor scribbled something onto his clipboard for a moment, then peered down at Leopold through a pair of square rimmed lenses. "I checked your vital signs while you were out. Everything seems to be in order. You hadn't woken up in a full week now. Apparently, some bypasser found you a little ways from Hooters, passed out in a hailstorm. I'll call your parents right away and let them know that you're awake. But first, I'd like to take another blood sample just to ensure that everything is fine."

Leopold shivered in his stiff mattress. He had just opened his eyes from being struck by lightning, and already he was being bombarded with needles and his _parents._ Could things be any worse? He turned away and squeezed his eyes shut while the long point of the needle pricked into his arm, scarlet liquid being sucked up into the tube connected.

A circular band aid was placed over the mark once the device was removed to seal off the flow of anymore blood. The amount Leopold had unwillingly donated was sure to be replaced into a vile. However, as the doctor moved towards the cabinet with the needle pointing up, a strange humming and crackling sound interrupted his focus. Leopold and the doctor both looked towards the blood filled needle as it proceeded to shake and spark with electricity. The doctor opened his mouth as though to give some sort of explanation, but the glass shattered suddenly and the man jumped away in surprise.

The blood spattered across the floor, bubbling and sizzling until it melted into nothing but a light pink stain. Leopold sat up straight in his bed and stared at the floor with an air of disbelief. What did this mean? Was he suffering from a fatal disease? Perhaps, because he was such an unlucky soul, death was standing in, just around the corner and awaiting his moment of weakness.

The doctor seemed utterly surprised as well though. And that was most frightening of all. How was it that a man who had dedicated his life to knowing everything- natural or not- medically reviewed as wrong appeared baffled by this? Leopold knew better than to take this lightly, as he had read many comic books where similar acts had been made. When the doctor could not explain what was wrong, something beyond comperhension was about to take place.

The doctor touched his own forehead frightfully, eyes glued and aghast to the floor. After the frozen wave passed over, he mumbled something about going for help before turning and fleeing from the room. Leopold relaxed into his bed, heart thrumming like pain in his chest. He wondered quietly if he was to blame for this, as he was not normally able to tell the difference. Everything was his fault more often than not. However, the air lacked in answering, he could only sit and wait for his more than shocked doctor to return.

§

Cartman and his superhero quests were taking off quite nicely for someone as amateur as himself. He liked being able to move like a shadow in the night, wiping away the smug grin of all the filth that lingered like a disease in his supposedly quiet town. During the day, he was simply Eric Cartman. The rich little prick too clever and sharped tongue for his own good who apparently never left his manor. And at night, he was The Coon. Masked hero with viciously sharp claws and moved like a dark shadow in the night, sifting through the trash and taking it out with little effort.

Uncharacteristically enough, Cartman couldn't take too much pride in this. He'd contemplated this for hours in his study after successfully patrolling the other night, realizing that perhaps he was only so great at his job because he took out the criminals he could handle alone. It was a very low blow to his ego to even consider creating a team. That was like admitting he needed help.

Cartman had gotten along quite fine without the assistance of his parents, or anyone else for that matter. Even when child services showed up repeatedly on his front door, he took care of them  
with ease. Although, the more persistent ones _did_ need reassurance in other means, he was fearless nonetheless.

Still though, this wasn't a game. He was grappling his life through slippery fingers each time he put on that costume. He could quite easily underestimate an enemy and end up dead without anyone there to back him up. The idea struck him hard, his legacy would certainly be forgotten if he didn't have anyone behind him. It was enough to break past his self love and think rationally.

So, though it had been a staggering project, Cartman got up far before the sun the next morning, dressed himself casually, then proceeded off to the most Godforsaken facility ever known. School.

His earlier school schedule danced just beyond the corner of his memory. He couldn't recall enough and begrudgingly needed to go to the office to ask for a copy. Of course, they couldn't just make it simple. No, they needed to sit him down and explain in grave voices that he had missed far too much school to ever hope for passing this year. He would need to, if he could, make up his credits Senior year.

Cartman had flat out told them all to bite him before walking behind the desk and snatching up the copy of his schedule from the printer. Now he maneuvered towards his classroom with his brown eyes glued to his paper. Every once in awhile, he'd look up to note building numbers and give withering looks to the students in too much of a hurry to watch where the fuck they were going.

Someone in particular bumped harshly into his shoulder, Cartman felt his anger jump ten feet as he whirled around to face his bypasser. Surprisingly enough, they were already on the case. "Watch where you're fucking going lardass!" The boy barked, stepping into his personal space threateningly. "Although, I'll try to be more understanding. Considering the fact that you're huge and take up more space than necessary!"

Cartman was thoroughly shocked with the disrespect. And not because it was coming from a young adolescent, but due to the fact that it was directed at _him._ "Excuse me!? Who the hell do you think you're talking to!?" Cartman took the challenge and sized up his newest opponent, a tall boy with the strangest, brightest green eyes he'd ever seen on a human being and a scorn that appeared indented into his features.

He knew this kid, but only barely. Cartman recognized the green ushanka he wore like a weird, protective shrine on his head. That's right, they had kindergarten together, he used to be very kind and many of the kids preferred him. Sharp as a tack too. But this was someone completely different from that boy, puberty could do that to a teenager. What was his name again? George or...Gregory? Benjamin?

"I'm talking to _you,_ dick." The boy had his fists clenched at his sides, displaying his own terrible temper just as Cartman was. Two roaring flames ready to clash if pushed just a little further. "I don't need some dipshit Freshman coming into _my_ school and trying to start crap- "

 _"Your_ school!?" Cartman almost chuckled, smiling sharply towards him. "Sorry, I didn't realize you ran things here. Although, it doesn't seem anyone really knows you so much as exist. You must be quite successful to be running a piece of shit school in an even more piece of shit town. But I guess again that something like that would suit someone like you."

It was in that instant that something odd flashed in his eyes. Something... red. It was very swift, and Cartman would've missed it had he not been looking directly towards him. Others would've blamed it upon their imaginations, but Cartman knew much better than that. He made the mistake of stepping closer to peer better into his eyes, but the son of a bitch apparently functioned like a rabid animal. Taking this as a challenge, the kid braced his hands against Cartman's chest and shoved him hard. His muscle flexed impressively even beneath his thick orange jacket, and his tremendous strength was enough to send the heavier boy stumbling back a few paces.

Cartman was made shocked once more, his dark eyes widening with both disbelief and anger. "Don't you fucking _touch_ me you piece of shit!" Stepping close, he shoved him back with everything he had. The boy also went backwards, seemingly surprised that someone had accepted his challenge of violence. They both stared each other down with burning eyes, both bright and dark. Then they ran full on into each other.

§

"This simply will not do!" A lady principal with a thick blonde afro glared pointedly at the two boys before her with large, black glasses. Cartman looked closely at her, wondering what the point of her makeup was. She still wasn't too pretty, but that could've also been due to the fact that he didn't very much care for her tone.

"Kyle," she shifted her gaze towards the other boy sharply. "This is your third offense _this week!_ What am I going to do with you? It's almost like you would _like_ to be suspended. That would be a low blow to those wonderful grades of yours, and it would be very difficult to catch up."

The boy- Kyle- snorted sarcastically, as though he honestly didn't think so. He was sporting a few well put bruises along his jaw and his lip was made bloody on the bottom. Cartman, however, wasn't exactly perfect. He had a nasty black eye that made him look pitiful to his enemies, the swelling was worsening as the time ticked. And then, to add to it all, his nose had been broken (which Cartman shoved back into place as he waited for Principal Victoria to call them in) and his tongue was still bleeding from where he had bitten it.

Victoria raised a fair brow, bemused by Kyle's lack of care in what was apparently a devastating situation. Then, her features relaxed and she said something that most certainly worked up a reaction out of him. "Kyle," she leaned forward and spoke in a thick tone. "Should I contact your mother?"

Kyle's eyes widened into a look that begged immediately for reconsideration. A fear was there so bright, even Cartman needed to wince. "No," Kyle said, grasping his armrests and leaning forward desperately. "No please don't tell her! She's been so busy lately with her job and everything, she can't deal with shit like this right now-"

"Then perhaps," Victoria stated without the slightest hint of pity, "You should know better than to partake in _shit like this,_ wouldn't you say Mister Broflovski?"

Cartman's eyes swung between the two, a brow raising with interest. Kyle was leaning back submissively into his chair, grumbling incoherent profanities under his breath while his fingertips dug into the jeans of his pants and he glared spitefully at his own shoes. Cartman wondered how risky it might be for him to now meet the woman's gaze.

"Eric," Victoria pointed her dagger sharp eyes at him next, Cartman met them head on. "It is my understanding that this is your first day back. In, perhaps, two years now? That's very, extremely bad you realize."

"I guess," Cartman shrugged indefinitely . Though, he found himself wishing she didn't bring that up in front of Kyle. This Principal must've been new, Cartman had been away _much_ longer than two measly years. He hadn't stepped foot in a learning facility in so long, investigations on his whereabouts had been made. But that would be brought to this woman's attention soon enough, he would lack in the detail for now.

"Where would you say you were all this time, Eric?"

"Busy," he answered noncommittally, his dark brown eyes were on Kyle now. It was perhaps foolish of him to observe the boy while he sat right beside him, but curiosity had developed. That brief flash of red in his eyes had been enough to peak Cartman's interest. He wanted to know more, where had it come from? He noted the way Kyle kept himself from sitting completely into the back of his seat. Cartman leaned back further, looking along the area completely concealed by his thick orange jacket. Well, nearly. A simple glance would make you believe it were nothing. However, when really looking closely...

Victoria was talking, but Cartman was far from listening. His attention was on the back of a boy too lost in his own mind to notice. Something stuck out at an odd angle from Kyle's jacket. It was incredibly slight, he should've missed it if not for the close speculation. Deciding he needed more inspection, Cartman reached out and grabbed the odd piece.

Kyle reacted immediately. He seemed to jump ten feet from his chair before his fist connected immediately with his jaw. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" He demanded as the rotund boy rubbed his newly appointed bruise in annoyance. He was unapologetic, especially seeing as he had gotten what he wanted. Something hollow lied beneath his jacket, something wooden...

"Eric Cartman, that's very inappropriate!" Victoria shouted angrily at him. "You keep your hands to yourself, you do not-"

"Cartman?" Kyle asked, huffing almost in disbelief. "You're Eric Cartman? The rich kid who's father died in some kind of an accident? I heard that you were fit and good looking. What happened? Isn't your mother taking good care of you?" His green eyes were still blazing and he was clearly trying to build up his temper again.

It worked. Cartman stood slow and purposeful with his dark eyes narrowed in the up most hatred. He could stand to listen and take a few jabs every now and then. However, the mention of his father? He had little practice with such a thing. No one ever mentioned Eric Senior to him, or even on the streets. There was never much reason to. "You little piece of-"

"Enough!" Victoria, clearly reaching her max in this situation, stood from her chair and looked towards both boys with burning impatience. "You will both do everything within your power to remain away from one another and behave like young gentlemen. I'm giving you both a referral for the violence. If it happens again? I'll suspend you both for three weeks, do I make myself clear?"

Eric Cartman and Kyle Broflovski dared not to look away from one another as they mumbled begrudging agreement. However, the message had not been reached, and this would never be the last they saw of one another.

 _There's something weird about this boy,_ Cartman thought as they were finally dismissed and parted ways in the halls. He had a very dark secret, something physically unethical that made him snap at the mere acknowledgement of it. Cartman wondered how worth it it'd be to find out just what that was.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. So far, I'm highly grateful for the praise and it drives me to write more. Thank you again, it means the world.**


	7. Accidents Happen

Cartman was misfortunate enough to come in late to his first period class, which just so happened to be Shop Class. Personally, he found the predicament to be notably idiotic, ridiculous at that. After all, who had found it intelligent to put a group of exhausted, unaware teenagers together with dangerously sharp tools? The teacher appeared displeased by his tardied presence, but Cartman wasn't the least bit apologetic as he handed off his schedule to the older man along with the excuse note Victoria had been kind enough to write out for him.

The teacher briefly looked over the note, then handed back his schedule and shoved the second piece of paper in the pocket of his vest for later. "Alright Eric," he greeted, causing the round boy to wince at the careless use of his first name. "I'm your teacher, Mr. Adler. I don't deal with students that like to screw around all day long, you could get seriously injured if you take part in regular shenanigans."

Cartman resisted the urge to smirk at the way his dictation ran, how the soft snickers of his peers just over his shoulder lead him to believe that regular shenanigans were true rituals in this classroom, despite the danger which followed after it. "Sure, whatever dude." He answered, turning to walk away without awaiting dismissal.

§

Stanley Marsh was the victimized soul the new fat kid had chosen to sit beside. Usually, he was used to working alone (as was expected with his supernatural abilities in a class full of tools) but he supposed he couldn't exactly request the other boy resided elsewhere. In an attempt to make the best of a generally bad situation, Stan handed the kid a pair of protective goggles and asked with semi kindness, "Eric, right?" He eyed his swelled black eye, naturally curious over the story behind it.

"I go by Cartman," the kid didn't look his way even as he accepted the goggles and strapped them around his head. By the tone of voice he used, Stan suspected that making friends was not his top priority. Cartman didn't ask for directions or wonder what precisely they were supposed to be doing, he refrained from further conversation instead and proceeded to toy with a slivered splinter of wood left untouched on their workbench. Typically, anyone else would be irritated by the lack of support offered by a student, but Stan was being overly social himself, he gladly left Cartman in his bored version of peace and instead grasped the hammer to proceed banging a nail into place with two attached boards. They were meant to design and build something for their upcoming project, but Stan's intentions were aimless. He was terribly distracted by years of depression and secrecy, he seemed to completely lose the will to care unless football was the center topic. He only ever did enough to keep his grades at average so that the coach didn't force him off the team (their mascot- the cow- sucked ass but the team played a mean game).

Stan seemed to completely rub out of nails at some point and flicked his gaze around for anymore he could bang on for awhile. His dark blue eyes turned towards Cartman at the sound of a repeated metallic fall and he saw the boy was picking up a necessary nail, then dropping it back down over and over. "Dude," Stan called over the obnoxion of the classroom workers. Cartman's dark grey eyes ventured towards Stan in the most unfriendly glare he'd ever been associated with by a total stranger. Swallowing down his own growth of impatience, Stan asked politely, "Could I use that? It doesn't seem to be useful to you anyway."

Cartman held his gaze for a very long while, not at all working to soften the hard edge of his gaze. The nail closed into his yellow-mitted fist and he held it off on the opposite end, far away from Stan. His fingers spread apart and the nail dropped to the floor with an insulting _clink,_ Cartman stared at Stan the entire time without even a cunning smirk. Just that straight, blunt frown of indifference. "Whoops," he said sarcastically, not at all moving to pick it back off. The nail rolled off someplace else when his foot kicked it aside.

Stan had a few choice words to direct at Cartman in that instant, all of which focused on his medically worrisome weight. He wasn't sure what this guy's issue was, entirely, but he presumed it was simply what happened when you were fat and undoubtedly spoiled. It was a long, terrible process of having to eat away the hideous phrases he wished to slash this kid with, but he took the high road in the end. Without a word, Stan angrily swiped off his goggles and slammed them down on the workbench, hard enough to make it tremble. He resisted the urge to mutter under his breath even as he strolled towards the side of the room. On a table over there was a table filled with containers of nails, he would pick one up and continue to work with limited contact in regards to Cartman.

These plans were, of course, foiled, when his foot stepped upon the stray nail the new kid had tossed aside. It rolled under the sole of his shoe and instantly made him fall forward. This wouldn't have been so terrible, Stan could overcome a little humiliation. What was terrible, however, was the fact that his body was propelling straight towards a tall metal can filled to the brim with rusted nails unable to be used. Falling head first into that was fatal, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Stan panicked, lost all sense of control over his mind save for one single desire, that he wanted that can to move.

His desire was instantly met. His will made the old nails all lurch off to the right, their mass caused the can to fall sideways just as Stan was about to meet a black fate. The nails scattered all across the floor, the very center of Stan's head struck the edge of the bottom of the tipped can and his vision flashed briefly with white at the sudden pain. A groan rumbled low in his throat and he slowly proceeded to lift up the upper half of his body, eyes squeezed shut with the throb in his head. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the class had raised vibrant concern over his well being and were all rushing to assist him. He was surrounded with the figures of his peers, all wondering what had become of him.

"Stand aside!" Mr. Adler shouted as he pushed past the circle of students. "Give him some air!" The teacher kneeled down in front of the injured boy, who was sitting up and massaging his skull to try and ease the ache. The flesh above the middle of his eyes was tender to the touch, a bruise would definitely form there. "Stanley," the teacher asked, pushing aside his blue and red puff-ball hat to get a good look at the damage. "Are you alright? What happened?"  
Stan wanted to give him a severe look of irritation at the many questions being asked, but he shook away his dizziness and forced himself to answer.

"I'm fine, it was an accident." His reassurance was clear, Mr. Adler appeared relieved he could formulate a proper sentence. "I just slipped..."

There was only one person not part of the circle around him, Stan came to notice. Mr. Adler was talking about excusing him from the rest of class and letting him go see the nurse, but the boy was barely listening. His azure eyes sought out over his shoulder, straight towards where Cartman still resided at the workbench. He was looking back, wide eyed and disbelieving, his lips parted slightly in surprise. Stan could've guessed he was shocked that he had inadvertently almost caused the death of a classmate during his first day of school. The sick twist in his stomach made him think otherwise. Sure, Stan could tell anyone that he'd shoved the can over just before he fell inside, why would they have reason to believe something supernatural was at force here? But Cartman had been closest to him the whole time the events transpired...

§

Leopold was finally released from the hospital. After the doctor had run out to grab assistance from another professional, they had taken more blood in which to test. The syringe hadn't shattered this time, the dark substance within didn't spark and explode with impossible energy and his results came back perfectly fine. Though the doctor had insisted he wasn't mad, that the blood had glowed and given off a powerful sizzle of something terribly abnormal, Leopold had spoken against this truth for his own sake. Now he sat in the back seat of a car with two parents snapping at him for being so unaware and making them concern over his health. Leopold wondered, not for the first time, if they actually held any worry over whether he lived or died.

"What would we tell the family?!" His mother was screaming, her voice high pitched and crazed with outrage. His father was still and boiling with a silent fury, his gaze glared straight through the windshield. "That our idiotic son had decided to go out and get himself struck with lightning, near a _Hooters_ I might add. What were you even _doing_ in a place like that?! What drove you to-"

Leopold shut her out at the mention of the breast themed restaurant. Lexus, he remembered, had partaken in an elongated make out session with one of his most greatest enemies. Craig Tucker was handsome and built like a dream, Leopold thought. What was worse was the fact that he was fully aware of this and used it greatly to his advantage. Why wouldn't Lexus want someone over _his_ glorious stature? He was, after all, a general real life heart throb with that desired bad-boy material. Then there was Leopold, with his wiry image and his mop of blonde hair, who could never match such strong standards. Lexus probably saw him as a stray cat she felt sympathy towards, every once in awhile feeding him kindness and affection whenever he came near.

The thought made him furious, his fists clenched and his teeth ground together in a familiar sense of bottled up anger. The distant sound of his mother yelping on and on over his shortcomings barely helped him, and that's when it happened. A yellow spark came over him, quick and noisy and it scared him so much that he actually flinched up from the seat. His eyes turned round as his mother silenced in surprise and she whirled around to glower spitefully towards him.

"What was that? What did you just do?" She interrogated.  
Leopold just stared at her, his adams apple bobbing with fear as he swallowed heavily. What had happened in the hospital had not been a fluke, something went weird with his blood anytime he wasn't in full control over his emotions. The weight if his mother's glare made his face turn pink with shame, he lowered his head and whimpered softly into submission, his knuckles crashing timidly together. She turned back around in her seat and they rode home in deafening quiet, save for the ordinary noises of the outside world beyond the car. When Leopold got home, he would be severely punished for not giving a straight answer, but that was far from his current train of thought. At the moment, a single question seemed to ring like a siren in his brain:

 _What's wrong with me?_

* * *

 **A/N: Short chapter, please forgive. The true reason for this note is due to some questions asked of me in some of the reviews- which, by the way, thank you so much it means the world- and I didn't want to just leave them up in the air. Firstly, yes Butters is the main antagonist. However, depending on if I get my ideas fully completed, whereas there will be more fanfictions to follow this one, then he won't be the only one who has it out for the Coon and Friends.**

 **Secondly, Stan. His power, where it delved from, is not at all clarified. I don't want anyone to concern that I'd simply made it spring up out of absolutely no where, his story is just a bit longer than everyone else's and will be explained very far into the future. The thing is, Stan's power was difficult for me to come up with good reason for, I had to sit and ponder his origin longer than anyone else's. Thanks to a long time of thought, Stan is actually the biggest reason I have already begun planning the sequel, where his source of power comes fully explained. For now, it's good that someone prompted the question over where Stan got his power, I had wanted the mystery clear.**

 **Thank you all, so far I've only received good feedback and it makes me very glad to know I've written something of interest. I very much just wanted to stay away from cliches. Special mention goes to _RandomWriter197_ for the most reviews and also for being the one to voice curiosity over Stan.**


	8. What A Tragedy

Word travelled quite fast throughout high school hallways, hushed whispers regarding the prospect of Eric Cartman- with his careless demeanor and the fight he hadn't backed down from against a Kyle Broflovski- had become the evident highlight of everyone's daily entertainment. Kenny McCormick cared nothing of the previous events revolving around the new fat kid, he had his own version of excitement happening currently in the closet with someone else. Score of the day, it had been one of his notably horny teachers. A married woman, yes, but her husband was so busy with his job and hadn't touched her like this in what seemed like decades and _blah blah blah._ It honestly didn't matter to Kenny, he didn't need the details to her sad life.

No, he had shown sultry interest when she asked him to stay behind in class to discuss his failing grades, she hadn't been all that difficult to win over either. Now he was enjoying the way her nails felt biting into his naked back. It took half an hour, tops, then Kenny was sliding his clothes back on and leaving behind a mess of a teacher as she wept over the dysfunction of her marriage and the horrid betrayal she hadn't resisted. Kenny could think himself as scum, but was he really? Most people thought someone who constantly showed obsession in sex was automatically a prominent asshole, but that was just unfair to proclaim. After all, it wasn't as though these women were rejecting him. And he wasn't making empty promises either, it was hardly his fault for being so striking.

School had ended a long while ago, the bell had shrilled with indication, which was why it had been remarkably perfect for him to make moves on his heartbroken instructor. He was walking down the hallway, twirling his car keys around his finger when the door to the nurse's office flung open suddenly and out stumbled a frantic blue eyed boy. "Shit, shit, _shit!"_ He barked, glaring daggers towards the screen of his phone as he paced into Kenny's pathway, making the blonde halt curiously. "Fucking great, I missed the bus. Looks like I'm walking now." From the office, the nurse poked her head from around the corner and gave the boy a hard look, Kenny struggled in suppressing a shiver from scurrying down his spine. The nurse was plenty kind and often showed methods of sympathy, unlike most school nurses who functioned like robots. But there was a dead fetus growing right off the side of her face, which made it hard for some people to look directly at her. Kenny was one of these people.

"Stanley," she scolded in an undertone. The boy turned to glare at her, obviously not sharing in the same reluctance to ignore something as obvious as a dead fetus just casually attached to someone's cheek. "Don't swear like that. Listen, I'll call your father and explain to him that I was looking after you. He'll understand-"

"I told you I was fine," the boy, Stanley, retorted stubbornly. "You didn't have to keep me here _all day long._ It isn't even a concussion!" Kenny blinked, realizing that he recognized this kid. He was the school's version of Tom Brady, the dazzling quarterback treated like a rarity among his peers and instructors. Unexpectedly enough, he was a nice guy despite the fame, he didn't even have a trail of broken hearts. As for that matter, Kenny wasn't certain that he even dated in the first place.

"I'll give you a ride," he spoke up before he could think about it, surprising even himself. He blamed the generosity on the fact that he had been so kindly laid in a stuffy closet by an older woman who still had a good kick to her. Still, Kenny didn't typically socialize with, well, anyone. Especially not the popular half of the status quo. Stanley turned to look at him, the hostility fled his gaze for something that mimicked the way Kenny was feeling in that instant and his lips parted as though he were going to say something. No words came out, Kenny had to doubt that nobody had ever offered him their services simply because they could. Kenny shrugged, stuffing the keys to his car into his orange parka's pocket. "I'm never in a hurry to get home anyway, I'll give you a lift if you want it."

Stan awkwardly put his own cellular into his pocket, grappling for a sentence. Suddenly, it hit Kenny why he was so hesitant. While Stan was everyone's golden boy, Kenny was considerably opposite from that. He was the smoking sex addict who lived in a shack too worn down to be a home and gave no care to his surroundings. You stayed away from people like Kenny, who had the face of an angel but a poisonous smirk adorned like weapons on demons. Suddenly, his bright blue eyes hardened from their indifference. "Or walk," he said rather flatly. "You're a big shiny football player after all, some exercise will barely do you any harm."

It surprised him when Stanley flushed in an apologetic sense, actually appearing guilt stricken for a moment. So Kenny's suspicions had been correct, Stanley feared getting mixed up with the likes of him. "Actually," answered the other boy, swiping away a few black strands of hair from his forehead that escaped from the hem of his hat. "That'd be awesome of you, dude. I'll even pay you the gas money." Seeing as they seemed to be working out perfectly, the nurse slowly moved back into her office to leave the adolescents to their own devices.

Kenny reached back to pull up his hood before proceeding down the hallway once more, towards the school's exit. "Let's go then," he sighed.

§

Stanley appeared terribly discomforted in Kenny's beaten up old truck, the blonde took evident delight in this. How simple, he thought to himself, it barely took much to make the goody-goodies squirm. "So, Stanley." Kenny tried out the use of his first name, seeing as this was the first time really using it. Special or not, Kenny wasn't about to refer to him as some Lord or anything and wouldn't fulfill these desires if requested of him.

There was a request, but it wasn't ridiculous. "Just Stan, actually." He said without looking towards him.

Kenny snickered under his breath. Stan pointed right and the blonde happily followed his direction, his gaze flicking to and fro at the lovely homes lined together in the neighborhood. It wasn't precisely a rich neighborhood, but it was a quaint little place people like Kenny wished they could afford. In the unfortunate end, he lived on the wrong side of the train tracks, the side where vermin and filth all congregated together in what they deemed as harmonious. But this place? It looked like the type of neighborhood Walt Disney roamed in, where flowerbeds would sing good morning songs to smiling bypassers. It was so stupid, but Kenny felt an aching sense of jealousy as he looked around. He didn't even _have_ flowerbeds, much less singing ones. "So where am I going?" He asked with an unnecessary bitter edge.

Stan either didn't notice or ignored it because he nodded towards a turn down a few more lovely homes. "Down that way," he directed. "Thanks for this by the way, I know you must have better things to do." Kenny really didn't have better things to do but was amused by this boy's attempts at lightening the mood. He would've said as much, if not for the far too sudden red and orange blur that sprung up like a nightmare in front of his truck. Kenny swore out loud before instantly stomping on his breaks and vigorously spinning the wheel to get out of the way. Stan shouted something towards him, but the screech of tires and the pound of adrenaline coursing through his ears fended off any words spoken his way.

The car swerved left, straight on to some poor fool's front lawn, and crashed into an old fashioned tree standing vigil before it. For what it was worth, the owners of said home didn't seem to be occupying it at all for the moment. Kenny's last thoughts before he shot out of his seat and straight through his windshield, ultimately severing his life, was simplistic and oddly ridiculous: _I really need to learn to wear my damn seat belt._

§

Cartman was trudging on his own path home, glaring down at his brown shoes as he walked and keeping a firm grip around the strap of his bag. He hadn't come across anyone worthy enough to join the team he was attempting to form, just a bunch of morons, most of which found it hilarious to play a game called "How Many Pencils Can I Shove Up My Nose Before I Start Bleeding And Crying." The school itself had been obnoxious and disgusting, as though the janitors spent more time sleeping than scraping chewed up gum from underneath the desks (he couldn't count how many times his fingertips had grazed against them).

However, he supposed he had ran into two boys that intrigued his sense of interest. The first one, the boy he felt like ripping a new one anytime someone so much as breathed his name, had an interesting secret hiding just under his thick orange jacket as well as a bad temper that could make a city shift. Good quality, and strange eyes too. Not because of their rare, vibrantly green coloring, but because they had sizzled when Cartman looked into them. He could've _sworn_ they did. And then there was Stan, the kid he sat beside in Shop Class who showed a surprising amount of patience with Cartman.

The thing about Stan was the way he had fallen. Cartman always thought that things like telekinesis was ridiculous and, point blank period, utter bullshit. He had seen apparent "proof" on the television many times before, but he had never considered them anything but lies no matter the explanation. But then Stan stepped in. Cartman must've just been looking at the correct moment because, when he flicked his gaze up briefly from his twiddling thumbs and saw Stan slip forward on the nail he had earlier kicked aside, he hadn't seen his arms shoot out to shove aside the can. If anything, Stan's limbs had flailed helplessly to his sides, the can had moved completely on its own when it knocked over and the dark haired boy had gracelessly banged his head against it. Impossible, it could've simply been a trick of the light. Or maybe even the excitement of witnessing a near death experience had caused Cartman to misinterpret what he had seen. He wasn't so sure though.

He heard another pair of feet walking gradually across the way, on the other side of the sidewalk, and Cartman looked up from his trek to see a familiar green ushanka rested casually on a head he didn't have any desires to be seeing again. They could've walked in silence until they finally parted ways, it didn't seem like Kyle had so much as noticed the other boy, much less cared to. But Cartman released an unnecessary groan of sour mood loud enough to reach the ginger and Kyle whipped his head up until his emerald gaze sought out the newest bane of his existence. "Great, fat boy is here. Shouldn't you be in the rich part of town?"

"You mean the royal section?" Cartman wondered with sarcastic arrogance, he could see how easily it made Kyle's skin grow into a boil. "Why yes, I should be. I'm on my way there right now, but I like taking the long way just so I can shake my head and sympathize with middle class poor people like you."

Kyle gave him a look that expressed idiocy on Cartman's end, but sticks and stones were his only weakness. At least, that was what he liked to think. "Nice bruises," Cartman went on, nodding towards Kyle in reminder of their previous fight the first time they had met. "Looks like a tank kicked your ass mercilessly."

"I got into a scruff with a fucking elephant of a kid, you know?" Kyle retorted, it came so easily from him. "You see, he pointed his gross saggy moon straight at me and opened fire, I'm lucky to even see straight." At this, Cartman came to a furious halt and Kyle followed his lead. They turned to face one another, one side of the sidewalk wordlessly challenged the other to duel.

"It must be surprising," Cartman said as he stepped off and into the side of the street, tensing when Kyle did the same. "Being beaten so ruthlessly by someone as amazing as me? I bet it's never happened to the almighty Kyle...whatever your last name is."

"Broflovski," Kyle took another large step towards the center of the street. "And yea, it doesn't happen very often." His gloves clenched and unclenched at his sides, clearly just itching for another fight. Cartman's smirk was wide and sharp enough to cut through bone, he liked the weary look that crossed over the other boy's face as he grinned in this way.

"Broflovski huh?" He wondered in a casual, smooth tone of voice. "I heard of that name before. I heard they burned the last of you in some wicked ovens awhile back, guess they missed a spot." He shrugged like this was a small token of error, but the look on Kyle's face would've sent a bull fleeing tail between legs. Even Cartman's smirk dropped, they stared at one another in frozen hatred. Then, without warning, Kyle barreled straight towards him with his fists raised in the offense.

Cartman's reflexes were sharp and focused, he slid to the side so that Kyle's knuckles connected with dead air, then reveled in the look of surprise that danced in his eyes. Cartman, swift like a cat, reached out and plucked the hat from Kyle's head and the boy whirled around in a form of outrage. Down tumbled a mass of crimson curls, falling into his eyes and all around his shoulders in a gargantuan afro. Cartman immediately burst into laughter as he stumbled backwards, still clutching the hat in his hand. "You're probably the most Jewish Jew I've ever met!" He barked past the excessive giggles. "Look at how ridiculous your Jew-fro is dude, how do you get by?" Kyle's eyes did it again, only this time it was much more evident than it had been before. They turned completely red, no pupil or whites, and he darted forward to try and retrieve his beloved accessory. Cartman had been distracted momentarily by the unnatural change in the redhead's irises, so the punch delivered his way sent him careening towards the road.

 _"Give me my fucking hat!"_ Cartman landed on his hands and knees while Kyle tried to swipe it up from his grasp, though Cartman was quick to roll away before his fingers could snatch up the ushanka. He was on his feet in record time, brushing himself off before waving the hat like a treat before a rabid dog.

"You want it? You're gonna have to take it from me."

Kyle darted forward, not needing anymore of an invitation, then Cartman spun around and took off at full speed towards the row of houses on the side he had been walking on. Kyle was spitting insults at him as he gave immediate chase, Cartman swore profanities under his breath as he saw that the other boy was catching up with little effort Cartman rolled his eyes up towards the bright blue sky and made a mental note to work on his cardio.

Cartman lunged for a silver chained fence and climbed swiftly over it, landing on his feet in someone's backyard. This proved a foolish effort when a German Shepard came crawling from it's doghouse and gazed hatefully towards the intruder. If he had the time, Cartman would've flipped off Heaven by now. The dog rushed forward, barking in outrage and baring yellow teeth in the means of death. Cartman swiveled around it and quickly made a dash towards the other fence that cut off someone else's territory. Unfortunately, the canine was much faster and tackled him down into the grass. Cartman rolled over and gagged at the foul smelling breath of the dog, his nose scrunching as he lifted the hand with the ushanka in it. He quickly shoved it into the animal's snapping jaws, it backed up in surprise and gave Cartman just enough time to scramble back on his feet.

"HEY!"

Cartman and the dog both looked over simultaneously at Kyle, who's death glare rested on the dog keeping his precious hat clamped between two rows of teeth. Unlike Cartman, he met the beast head on as it attacked him, Kyle's arms went around it's body and slammed it into the ground as he attempted to wrestle the hat out of its grip. Cartman stared in bewilderment at the tangle of fur and flying fists. He succeeded in the end, the dog took off back towards its miniature house in a whimpering mess while Kyle rubbed his hat against his jacket and proceeded to shove his tresses back underneath it.

When this task was completed, he regarded Cartman in outrage, obviously not satisfied that he had gotten his hat back. He wanted blood now. Cartman turned and ran again, Kyle taking off straight after him with the intentions of murder (or so Cartman supposed). Despite everything, Cartman was having an obnoxiously good time with himself, climbing over fences and being chased by an angry Jew proved to be shockingly fulfilling. Finally he stumbled out of the backyards and returned to a sidewalk. Coming around the bend was a beaten up old truck so mangled, it was a wonder it even worked right. How could someone own a piece of shit like that and still live somewhere as nice as this? He didn't have the time to contemplate this because, in the next instant, Kyle collided straight into him and they toppled together in front of the oncoming automobile.

Cartman looked up from where he was pinned underneath Kyle and sucked in his breath when the truck immediately swerved to the left in a cry of rubber against road, crashing directly into someone's front yard tree. A body shot out of the front seat, glass shattered as it plunged through the windshield and struck the tree in a bloodied heap of a corpse. From the passenger's side, a scream came tearing from someone's throat, Cartman could see through the blurry window as another kid tried to desperately undo his seatbelt and come stumbling out of the truck, coughing and dropping to his knees. A small trickle of blood spilled out from a long cut along his hairline and he spit out tiny red dots all over the grass.

Cartman turned to look up at Kyle, but the boy was still with horror, unmoving as he kept his focus locked on the scene as it unfolded before him. "Get _off_ of me!" Cartman shouted, shoving Kyle off and getting to his feet to quickly see what had become of whoever appeared dead. He recognized the other lad as Stan, who had planted his flat palms against the truck's smoking hood in his struggle to stand.

"What the _fuck_ were you _doing?!"_ Asked the blue eyed boy, his words came scraping out in painful rasps. Cartman ignored him before climbing on top of the truck, towards the slumped body that still wasn't showing any signs of life. It was a kid, male, his blonde hair matted with blood and shards of glass sticking out from his face and neck. His pale blue eyes stared up at the clouds as they sailed quietly by, but he obviously wasn't seeing them. Kyle had finally broken from his trance and was rushing over to address the terrible predicament, though he looked so damn hopeful that no one had been killed.

"He's dead!" Cartman reported, both Kyle and Stan looked on in utter terror at the news. Kyle sagged down towards his knees, his mittens coming up to cover his mouth while he trembled in despair. "Shit," Cartman whispered and dropped the body, whoever it was, back towards the hood. Two options, run or stay? As he slid down off the truck, Stan was already pulling out his cellular from his pocket and dialing up the emergency numbers.

"We have to call for help!" He was saying, pressing the phone to his ear, Kyle remained soundless and frightened. "We have to-" Suddenly, the truck jerked harshly. Stan stumbled forward and looked backwards in surprise and question, Cartman and Kyle immediately did the same. The truck pulled itself backwards from the tree, it's damage fixing from the previous blow and the tire marks disappeared like nothing from the front lawn as it returned to the road. The dead boy, Cartman still didn't know his name, had fallen on to the ground when his truck had inexplicably lurched backwards. He became engulfed in a blinding sort of golden light, vibrant and impossible, the trio of boys lifted their arms to try and ward off the brightness. What was happening?

The light faded away, there stood a tall boy with shaggy yellow locks and pale blue eyes brushing off any dust from his outfit. He appeared so careless, so serene and silent as he went, grumbling to himself about something incoherent. When he lifted up his gaze and saw three others staring blankly at him, awaiting some form of explanation, he raised his brown gloved hands up slowly in disbelief. "Do you remember me dying?" He asked.


	9. Revelations

**A/N: I am so terribly sorry for how late this was. I hadn't touched this in** ** _months,_** **I can't believe that. Please forgive! I seriously, literally forgot that this at all existed.**

* * *

After the long while of standing and staring in bewilderment towards a blonde they had all presumed dead, they ended up clambering into the back of his truck and exchanging secrets they never thought would be shared with anyone. Much less other adolescents they hardly knew. "I can't die," Kenny had explained. From birth, he had been granted the ability to resist death no matter how mangled and torn his body might be. Typically, nobody remembered the incident so the fact that _they_ did rose some questions. What made them so special?

"I have the power to command any tool possible," Stan had gone next, his dark blue eyes were wide with both excitement and curiosity. This power seemed rather specific, why not just give him mental command over all things? Stan also suffered from ignorance, he knew nothing of the orgin; where this power had first birthed. "All my life I was normal," he said, the wistful note in his voice tugged one of Cartman's heartstrings (surprising, considering he'd ripped them away years ago). "Then one day, poof, I've got this weird ability."

"I'm part kite," Kyle said, his voice gruff enough to show he hated admitting it. Naturally, further explanation was demanded of him, so he unzipped his thick orange jacket and leaned forward to expose the diamond shaped evidence through his black cotton T. "It's attached to me, spliced into my genes. I'm an accidental product of one of my father's experiments." He lifted up the back of his shirt and everyone leaned forward to stare. The edges were cramped and bent from the way Kyle concealed it's existence, but they seemed to spread out automatically when at last revealed. Dark lines went through the multicolored cloth like lazy spiderwebs. _Veins,_ Cartman realized in fascination.

"Do you feel it when people touch you?" Stan was reaching out with a gloved hand as the question was asked, Kyle reacted immediately by shoving it away and offering him a dark glare.

"Yes I can feel it," he snapped, reaching behind and proceeding to fold the edges back to fit the shirt down again. Knowing that it was part of his physical appearance, Cartman found something savage to the act; like watching someone wrench their own leg in the wrong direction.

Cartman leaned back against the truck, his mind was spinning with the possibilities of such a blessed outcome. When he had blinked open his eyes that morning, way before the sun was even peaking, he hadn't expected to be rewarded with actual _superheroes_ to lead! A silence fell over them, hushed but tense. They were waiting for him to admit something next, but he had no impossible abilities to share. No wings he kept from prying eyes and no power he struggled to contain. But that didn't mean he had _nothing_ to give.

"My father was murdered when I was twelve," Cartman said, folding his arms over his chest. "Had his eye blown out by some crazed lunatic. I even saw his body. My mom shut down, she doesn't take care of me anymore. She's incapable because she's such a wreck, it's like I live alone." No one spoke, but they were observing him with wild eyes that varied from sympathy, to wonderment, to a hardness he couldn't read. Even still, he carried on. "Recently, I started doing a better cause. I've begun clearing out crime so that the streets of South Park could once again be safe for everyone to walk on. At night, I become _The Coon,_ a fierce vigilante who keeps villains where they need to be."

For awhile, no one spoke. They had all gone terribly stiff and wide eyed as though he had revealed something unbelievable. But of course, who would take someone seriously when they spoke of a second identity? As though life were a comic book. It started with Kyle, but Stan and Kenny were swift to follow after: they burst into merciless laughter.

"That's the faggiest thing I've ever heard of!" Shouted the redhead of the bunch, wiping a tear from his eye while Stan, beside him, gasped to catch his breath.

"So wait!" Kenny held up a hand to gain prominent attention, though he was still bubbly with arrogant chuckles, Cartman wanted to rip his pretty ass a new one. "You seriously, like, dress up and go fight bad guys in a mask. How come I've never heard about this? Why are you not on the news?"

"Some kid playing dress up?" Stan had successfully managed to upright himself, his cheeks flushed with his exaggerated amusement. "Who's gonna be the sucker to report _that?"_

Cartman fumed at their utter disrespect, his fists clenched at his sides and he straightened up to hold his dignity. Who exactly were _they_ to laugh at him?! A bunch of nobodies too ashamed of their own amazing gifts to so much as look at their own reflections. Cartman would let them know too. "Because what on earth are _you_ all doing with your lives that's better than me?!" He roared, aggravated by how unfazed they were.

"Breathing," Kyle challenged with a shrug. "Breathing is way better than what you're doing. Also blinking."

Stan proceeded into yet another laughing fit, Cartman observed them each carefully. How was he ever going to convince them to become part of his team if they insisted upon mocking his cause? The more they were convinced of it's stupidity, the less chance he had of grasping their superhero abilities as his own to manipulate. Cartman let himself relax back against the truck again, the boil of his fiery temper was still alive beneath his skin, but he forced it from erupting with much difficulty. When the trio of others calmed down enough to hear him properly, the larger boy asked casually, "Who here can say that they completely and totally like themselves?"

Silence washed over the boys like an illness, eyes exchanged glances that spoke of whispered truths. Cartman could see them, he could read people like first grade books if he decided to. How else were you supposed to entangle power through one's mind if you were blind? It wasn't that they couldn't say the words, dub Cartman to idiocy and assure him that their self esteem was not at all fractured. But who was going to be the first one to spout the lie? And how could they, when Cartman had asked the question like the answer was already known to him?

"I can," Cartman said, still with infuriating casualty. A smile spread over his lips and he reveled in the burn of hatred that suddenly scorched their gazes. Who was laughing now? "I love who I am, who understand going to be. I think I'm way better than everyone else, and do you know why that is?" He was literally asking, he pointed his attention on each of them individually with a silent dare to produce an answer. They didn't give any indication that they knew, just glared at him in quiet outrage, Cartman smiled again.

"It's because I am," he explained, chuckling at the way Stan exhaled in irritation. "Because I live, _really_ live, and the three of you hide away from the world because you're too scared to face it."

"That's bullshit," Kyle immediately retaliated. "I'm not hiding from this stupid world. I'm going to own it someday."

Cartman was still grinning like the victor of this little argument, he liked how easy it was to make the ginger lad seethe. "Are you? Because all I see is a bunch of pansies too afraid of their own reflection to face it. I see children, and I see a future just like the present for you guys. Unless..."

He let the words hang in the air, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the way they raised up their brows with the utmost impatience. Stan leaned forward, more eager than the other two and much too anxious to hide it. "Unless?" He prompted.

"Unless you join me," Cartman finished. There was a dare to his words, a flaring question that asked whether or not they had the balls to step up. Release their fears and use their incredible power for the sake of the good in this world. With them on Cartman's side, capable of being led by his wisdom and stunning grace, there would be nothing in this universe to stop him. To stop any of them really, all he needed was a note of approval from them all. _Yes._

"Nope."

"Nuh-uh."

"Not happening dude."

The three boys abruptly got to their feet and proceeded to make their exit, Kenny pulled the loud jingle of keys from his pocket when he landed back on the road. "This wasn't fun at all," he said to the others, approaching his truck's door and wrenching it open with a loud whine. "Let's never ever talk about this again."

"I can agree to that," Kyle tugged his jacket back on and zipped it up, moving quickly towards where the sun was slowly beginning to sink. Cartman slowly clambered out from behind the truck, struck dumb by the way they had rejected his invitation. He shoved his yellow mitted hands into the deep pockets of his jacket and began to retreat, his gray eyes locked on to the sidewalk as he traversed.

All was not quite lost. Not just yet. Cartman's words would swim through their minds tonight while they attempted to accomplish sleep, swirling through their train of thought until all they could think of was Cartman. The round boy was confident of this, a smile crept up his lips as he started for home. Something made him doubt this interaction had finalized their futures.

§

Cartman and Stan didn't exchange words in Shop Class the next day, the black haired boy was going through the most severe lengths simply to pretend Cartman didn't exist. The round boy found his evident resistance futile and stupid, but he hadn't the energy to play "I Bet I Can Make You Look at Me." Instead, he regarded a stray nail boredly, as he did only yesterday, his fingers tapped tirelessly against the wooden bench.

Somewhere along the way, Stan finally ceased his mindless banging with a hammer and slid in beside him, dark eyes locked on to the restless twiddling of his digits. "I've been...thinking about what you said." He tilted his head towards Cartman ever so slightly, the other boy merely grunted out a response. Stan was unsatisfied, but he took it as his cue to go on. "I mean, it's still a dumb idea. Dressing up like a superhero and, you know, going out there to stop crime or whatever."

Cartman still offered little answer, his focus solely on the nail he twirled in his grip. Stan wondered if he was listening at all. "But, I was just wondering," Stan flushed with embarrassment, cheeks growing a furious pink the more he went on. Why was he speaking at all? "Do you, you know..."

He trailed off, Cartman seemed impatient by his silence and dropped the nail with a soft _plink._ His irritated gray eyes shifted towards the black haired lad in a demonstration of intolerance and he asked in his unhappiness, "Do I _what_ Stan?"

Stan knocked the side of his foot repeatedly against the leg of their bench, lip caught between his teeth. "Do you...do you actually help people?"

Cartman blinked, his surprise alight in his stormy irises. He flicked his attention towards the front of the classroom and appeared distanced from the present, as though actually considering the question being asked of himself. Stan waited with baited breath for his answer, perhaps Cartman didn't very well save anyone. Maybe he just pranced about the streets in a rat costume during the night and claimed to be a superhero. "Yes," he answered finally, turning back to regard the quarterback once more. "Of course I do."

Stan looked back down at his fingers, flexing the experimentally as he imagined himself doing the very same. In the modern world, he was a freak; an abomination to society. A witch that needed to be burned at the stake. But if his outfit was colorful, if a mask hid away his identity, if his newfound abilities were to be used for helping others... Would he hate himself so much if this could be made into a reality? Cartman certainly made it possible, why couldn't he?

"Cartman," Stan lifted his gaze towards the heavy boy with a burst of needed determination. "Could I possibly-"

"The more the merrier," Cartman shrugged, a smile lifted up his mouth.


	10. The Rush of Blood

The whoosh of the evening air reeked of deceitful peace, dreadful in it's essence and insulting with it's steady yet gentle nature. The Coon knelt upon bended knee at the edge of a building and peered down at the empty streets of South Park, undeterred by it's insistence that all was silent. He was ever so still, a statue of a shadow made dull with observation thanks to much training in patience and stealth. This would be his final night as a solo artist, he would kiss solitude goodnight one last time before taking under his wing a young boy with inky tresses willing to do good.

A breeze ruffled the furry ears sprouted up from a band atop his head, his cape swished with the dark grace of a fallen angel's broken wings, just as the hero was. Not a single part of him was whole, but standing as someone different from Eric Cartman felt even more real than his mundane lifestyle. He lifted up an arm and used one curved nail, sharp as a needle, to cautiously scratch at an itch on the bridge of his nose. Perhaps it would be a rather boring night, perhaps even criminals found sleep to be necessary. His dark eyes sought through the silence, then he noted the figure moving just beneath the lip of the rooftop Cartman was on.

He leaned forward and squinted, it didn't take much focus to realize he recognized the coincidence of this person's presence. He wondered if he had bypassed Kyle this much before actually meeting him, yet never actually came to notice. He considered calling down to the ginger, let him gaze upon all the wondering glory that was The Coon and see if he swallowed his laughter. However, he was suddenly reminded that Kyle was a total assmunch and wouldn't waste his time attempting to impress him. Cartman was against the idea of pointless obsessions, Kyle would slowly but surely come his way all on his own. As stubborn as he was, Cartman knew the other boy was not moronic (at least, not _that_ moronic).

Cartman was about to turn and fall back on this particular area of town, search another place unsupervised and see if he could catch some action before turning in for the night. However, he paused when a smooth, musical voice came from below. Cartman leaned back over the ledge and examined the situation, Kyle was being confronted by an impressively tall boy dressed in an attire clean and white, his hair meticulously cared for and combed. He had a proud arch in his back, one that broadened his chest in a term that could only be used one way: _embarrassing._ He had a golfer's bag filled up with well polished clubs swung over his shoulder and an arrogant smirk topped off his unblemished features.

Cartman rolled his eyes at his appearance, rich people were quite the rarities in the mountain town, but the lot of them were total ass-wads (he added himself with this label as proof). Some of them happened to enjoy badgering those not of blessed wealth, as pathetic as that sounded, and it seemed Kyle would be their victim tonight. He watched with calculating eyes as the ginger boy was quickly surrounded by three more lads dressed like douchebags, each one chuckling under their breaths. Kyle was obviously unwilling to participate with their bothersome interactions, a grin turned up the hero's lips as he observed the unfolding events. Kyle deserved whatever annoying plot was approaching him, Cartman supposed he could watch for awhile until the rich kids finally released their target. He could use a good laugh after all.

Kyle barked something at the stalking predators, a clear "fuck off" with an extra dash of bitterness to the end. As it turned out, the boys didn't care very much for his salty language and reacted violently due to it. The leader of the quartet reached into his bag and whipped out one of his shiny clubs, then gave a harsh swing straight under the redhead's ribcage, Kyle doubled over and wheezed in surprise by the attack. They gathered in closer, each rich little thug drawing away their own clubs to use as weapons, Cartman felt his heart sink.

Despite his better judgement, it wasn't too heroic to watch a defenseless dude be obliterated by an idiotic group of rich guys. Cartman gripped the edges of his cape and stepped from the edge of the building, then he let gravity take natural control and pull him towards the conflict. His feet struck the concrete just beside Kyle, who was slowly recovering from the unexpected blow, and his silhouette stood out like a black raccoon among the shadows. Uncertain of what to make of this, the antagonists each backed away with exchanged glances of confusion.

Kyle rubbed at the ache in his waist, his unnaturally vibrant eyes stared him down in a torrent of both awe and disbelief, clearly he hadn't taken Cartman's confession to heart. However, the evidence before him was, quite simply, very inarguable. "Cart-" began the stunned boy, but the alter ego silenced him with a harsh look before directing strict attention upon the staring individuals before him.

He pointed a curved claw towards the leader, his stance was tense and ready for anything. "You shouldn't bully people for having less money than you," he growled in a voice that could only be described as cheesy and gruff. "That's just an asshole move. If you don't leave, I'll have to use force against each of you." Behind him, Cartman heard an ungrateful scoff from Kyle and felt the muscles beneath his thick skin coil in frustration. Even in mind blowing situations like this, the stupid Jew boy still managed to find his sarcastic arrogance and use it prominently.

The leader of the rich pack burst into a fit of laughter, it was typically the way criminals greeted him and Cartman was unfortunate enough to be used to it. "Hey look," he pointed his club towards the tubby little vigilant and crept forward ever so slightly. "It's some kid dressed like a merecat. Let's kick _his_ ass too, I don't think he knows what respect is." At the return of his confidence, the rest of his posse appeared to share in the amusement and returned to the upper hand.

Or so they thought.

Cartman saw it, the slight slide of his foot even before he lifted his weapon and, by the time the club was brought up and then pulled down, he was already gone from the space. Cartman had slid to the rich boy's right, then struck out with a sharp claw which bit into his ribcage. The boy let out a cry of both shock and pain as he stumbled from balance, another figure moved from behind The Coon and swung out in the means to crack his skull. However, Kyle rushed forward before even thinking on it and tore the club from out of his grasp. He swung and took out his opponent's kneecap, the other male screeched through clenched teeth and fell from grace, collapsing on his shoulder with futile protest.

 _Easy,_ Kyle thought before whirling around to greet his next face off. However, it seemed Cartman was already doing battle with the two remaining rich kids. He was a blur between the two of them, neither enemies had the skill to devastate him no matter how they tried. Kyle was fascinated by the strength of their pride, however, they were so very unwilling to admit a clear defeat. Soon enough, Cartman had beaten them all with their own golf clubs and left the foes fallen in their humiliation. The raccoon attired boy turned slowly to meet Kyle's staring green eyes, he lifted an index finger to his grinning lips and hushed him gently. Then, with a swish of his cape, he turned and fled into the darkness. Leaving a boy to gape in wonderment after him.

§

Following the day after, Kyle decided to spend his Saturday doing anything that involved a typical life unworthy of attention. His little Canadian brother, Ike, had requested desperately to be taken to the public library in which to check out the next installment to his favorite series. Of course, it was stories dedicated to children, but Ike had a very impressive level of reading that left even his teachers aghast. Sheila and Gerald must have some sort of special method to raising their children because, all in all, the youth of their household was blessed with marvelous intelligence. Even so, Kyle agreed to his pleas and was now gladly walking through the South Park media center with a little black haired boy clutching excitedly at his glove.

"Okay Ike," Kyle said once bringing him to the children's section, filled with little kids rushing past tall shelves full of fairytales and far fetched fiction. "Pick out whatever you like and I'll check it out for you. There's a book I wanna see if I can find here so I'll be back in about ten minutes. Alright?" Ike responded with a squeal of delight before taking off with the rest of the children, Kyle watched him fondly as he knocked his peers aside for the chance to find his favorite book.

A less than amused mother scowled when she saw Ike shove her daughter over as he ran by, she burst into tears at once. "Excuse me," she stormed over to a grinning Kyle. "Is that your little boy?"

Kyle merely hummed in confirmation before turning and walking away from the aggravated parent. Typically, Kyle would bark at his little brother for displaying such terrible mannerisms, but not today. He was still reeling from the events which transpired just hours before, where he had watched The Coon in destructive action towards a group of boys who had tried to threaten him. Kyle had never felt so foolish, laughing at Cartman for claiming illogical greatness yet witnessing the proof in turn. Kyle shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he approached the desk centered in the library, his mood darkened with thoughts of the dreaded Eric with his surprising quality. He was like a less admirable version of Batman, their very own Bruce Wayne. Kyle hated the idea of it, _he_ was the one meant to be getting all the glory. And he wanted to do it without playing dress up while risking his life under the dictation of an amateur.

"Excuse me ma'am," Kyle folded his arms against the counter, the elder woman typing away on her dusty PC peered down at him attentively. "I came here two weeks ago wondering about _The Bluest Eye,_ I wanted to know if it was still checked out." The elder woman turned back to her keyboard, ever limited on words as she pressed a few keys, then squinted quietly towards the words before her. She exhaled, then turned back towards the eager lad awaiting her response, drowning his hope with a gentle shake of her head. Kyle groaned out his frustrations, why couldn't things just start going his way again?

"Are you kidding me?" He dragged a hand down his exhausted face as his scorn settled deep within. "It's _still_ checked out? Who is taking so long to-"

"I-I believe that's my mistake."

Kyle turned around in surprise when he saw an incredibly petite girl shuffle towards the desk, in her hands she held the novel he had been asking for. Her hair, a mousy shade of faded brown, was messy with high strung curls held back by two red barretts on either side, cautiously pulled away from her face. She had a vicious grip on her bottom lip between two rows of pearl white teeth and she had a tense in her shoulders that spoke of severe paranoia. Still, she looked back at him without fear or any form of real apology, her gaze fell towards the book as she placed it down on the desk. "I-I'll just return it," she stuttered past the way she chewed on her lip. "Although, y-you should know it's r-really out there with i-it's content."

Kyle was too bewildered to respond, although he was already aware of the unashamed literature presented in the book she had given up. He had assumed the one to restrict the novel from his ownership was someone with wisdom years beyond his own, not everyday did someone in his own age group show interest in these types of stories. He shot a sparing glance towards the librarian while she scanned _The Bluest Eye_ as he leaned curiously towards the strange girl. "What's your name?" He inquired casually, the girl tilted her head towards him only for a moment and Kyle caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled of ink and cheap soap, he found himself drawn more to her because of this (though the appeal was beyond him).

"What's in a name?" She shrugged, then abruptly spun away from him and strode off on her own path.

Kyle breathed in and followed after her with eyes widened in wonderment. He didn't partake in activity involving girls, the lot of them tended to bore him gravely and the only one who ever matched his intelligence happened to be a little ravenette he hadn't seen since middle school. And he had hated her passionately. Yet there went a girl lacking in good looks or particular social skills, and he wanted to pursue her. His shoulder was tapped by a skeletal finger and he flinched from his daze, looking back towards the silent librarian while she gestured towards him, expecting his library card. He waved her off and moved away from the desk, quickly going after the girl as she disappeared behind a tall shelf classic novels.

He found her again, her focus dedicated to the spines of books as she trailed over them. Kyle hadn't any talent in speaking with the opposite gender, he didn't do it often enough to say he could. He didn't mind watching her, however, while his mind worked overtime to come up with something clever or witty to hit her with. "Can I help you?" She asked without looking away from her task and Kyle blinked rapidly in embarrassment, he cleared his throat as though to ward off further awkwardness in conflict.

"You're really not going to tell me your name?" It wasn't clever, nor did it come out suave or confident. If anything, his tone declared that he very much wanted to know her name, and she looked briefly towards him from the corner of her eye. With a sigh, she straightened up from her position and stepped towards him, her fingers twiddled in front of herself and her feet pressed together as though nervous. Everything _about_ her screamed insecurity, yet her eyes spoke of clear and booming bravery.

"Rebecca," she revealed.

Kyle couldn't seem to fight it back as a smile slowly turned his mouth up, _Rebecca._ It would later haunt him as he lulled himself to sleep that night. "Kyle," he responded, rubbing softly at the back of his neck; his voice lower than a murmur. "Er, my name. It's Kyle."

"Okay," she dipped her head in acceptance, then returned to examining the bookshelf.

Kyle inwardly panicked, he hadn't wanted the conversation to cease there, but she seemed so bent on ignoring his interest. Or perhaps he just wasn't applying himself to this, whatever it so happened to be, he quickly approached her. "So, um, have you ever read _The Satanic Versus?_ The romance is tragic don't you think?"

"Th-that was barely the point of the book," Rebecca answered, quick and certain.

Kyle flushed and swore under his breath, he had heard somewhere that girls liked it when boys showed a soft side towards things like "love" or whatever. Kyle wasn't very active in the whole idea of it all (especially assuming scientific investigation proved love to be nothing short of a chemical reaction in the brain) and _The Satanic Versus_ had been one of the few stories he paid the involvement of romance much mind to. Clearly, Rebecca wasn't going to fan herself over a boy speaking sadly of some sort of tragic tale of love, that which it very much wasn't. But Kyle knew nothing of things like _Twilight_ and preferred to keep it that way. It didn't appear Rebecca would know anything about it either.

"No no, of course not!" He waved two hands in a show of protest, erasing his mistake as much as he could. "No, but, I mean, didn't you think it was pretty sad? The way Farishta and Allie practically destroyed one another? Although, I guess that entire book was filled with sadness..." He was rambling now, Kyle mentally scolded himself for being so laughable in his performance. "But, well, I mean-"

"If you're so obsessed with sad romances," Rebecca interrupted as she finally selected a book from the shelf, "th-then you should really read a- _A Tale of Two Cities."_ She walked away from him and Kyle felt a strong dosage of dread at the idea, he truly hated the prospect of a pitiful love triangle. A girl unable to decide who her heart beat most for, yet going through making such a decision by kissing both love interests in each chapter; what a bore. Kyle preferred something to challenge him, make his toes curl with excitement beyond something along the lines of _oh em gee, she went with that one!_

He stepped forward with the means to follow after her, but his path was intercepted by an energetic little boy tugging ruthlessly on his sleeve. "Kyle!" Ike exclaimed, demanding his prominent focus no matter his clear struggle. "Kyle I wanna check out this book! Come on!" He proceeded to drag the older boy towards the center of the library, his emerald shining eyes watched in displeasure as Rebecca began to walk down yet another row of books, farther and farther out of his reach. Under a dire spell of desperation, Kyle dug in his heels to stop Ike from pulling him onward, momentarily ignoring the way he whined and protested their sudden halt.

"Can I see you again?" He called to her.

Many eyes turned to give scolding glances of irritation at his careless volume, Rebecca whirled around to acknowledge him with an air of surprise. Kyle had never seen this girl around his school, certainly he'd recall her, so he couldn't take the chance of never seeing her again if it came to that. Of course, he realized what a hazard it was to show interest in girls like this, what with his very upsetting handicap and all. But Kyle would forever scramble for just a taste of something ordinary, and letting himself fall into a daze over a girl of strange behavior yet wild intelligence seemed much more normal than the current turn his life had taken.

She breathed in, but a faint color of pink dusted the edges of her cheekbones just slightly enough for Kyle to glimpse it. "W-well," she began quietly, she had a grip around her book that seemed to turn her knuckles a severe white and Kyle felt a longing to be closer. "I come here every two weeks to check out a book, b-but I suppose I wouldn't mind coming again i-in two days." It wasn't a promise, but Kyle felt an inside flutter of excitement which pulses adrenaline through his veins. She turned on him without even a smile, then continued back on her own trail.

Kyle felt momentarily dizzied, disbelieving that he had become so frazzled due to the nature of a mere girl. Still, he enjoyed the feel of this, ecstatic and new as it was, it reminded him of an electric charge shocking the ivory of his bones. Grinning, he allowed Ike to drag him off towards the desk once more to check out his precious book. Screw Cartman, he would find normality even with that godforsaken kite growing out of his spine.

* * *

 **A/N: FOR THOSE UNAWARE: Rebecca is not an OC. She was present in season three of South Park as a homeschooled little girl with a serious lack of interaction with other children- her parents rarely allowed her and her brother outside. Kyle showed great interest in her and ended up being her first kiss, to which she realized she really** ** _really_** **liked kissing boys and ended up dressing scantily while kissing anyone at the elementary school dance. Really funny episode, I recommend it if you haven't watched it.**

 **ALSO: The plans I have for this story and the ones following are gonna be dramatic. If you don't like things like that, you might wanna quit on me.**


	11. Question Mark

**A/N: I fell asleep one night on my couch with South Park blaring on my television. I was out for, maybe, an hour or two? Anyway, I dreamed up something interesting that I might use in future plots. Something involving the Goths! Maybe. I need to think because it might also affect the plans I'd already developed.**

* * *

It wasn't just a spark of electricity every now and then, not just something which worked up from somewhere deep within when he was suddenly overwhelmed. Leopold contained actual _powers,_ bursting impossibility sizzled at his very fingertips and all he had to do was will it into focus. Throughout the course of time, Leopold discovered he could do extraordinary things with the power of thought and _oh it felt incredible._ He could summon a mighty hammer in which to crack open the ground, he wielded its massive shape as though feather light and could cause it to disappear in thin air if he so demanded. He could obliterate things to ash with the charge of an energy beam, though it left him exhausted to do so, but he had such fun practicing.

He stared through his bedroom window, eyes watching the soft fall of gentle snow towards the ground, so pretty and delicate. Leopold wondered where these sudden abilities had delved from, why they were given to him and what he was expected to do with them. Obviously, he had been chosen for something in which was greater than himself (and everyone else in this horrific place of living). Although, the message wasn't too clear as to what his purpose was or how to use his powers correctly.

All in good time, he supposed.

§

She hated when he drank.

A good for nothing step father sat before little Sunny in his beaten old rocking chair, although he treated it as though it were a throne. He was surrounded with his friends, guzzling down more and more bottles of the dreadfully tasting alcohol and gaining more volume with their laughter because of it. Sunny stared up from the floor, a stuffed white wolf pup clutched in her grasp while big blue eyes watched wonderingly towards her supposed idol. It would stick with her, watching the way he eased his troubles and exhaustion through a loss of his conscious thought. But for now, all she wanted was a man she trusted to carry her off to bed.

Cautiously, she tip toed towards the group of men as they burst into laughter once more, the obnoxion caused poor Sunny to cringe in dismay. Her mother would be working late in the office, otherwise Sunny would certainly prefer her gentle grace over the stink of liquor rising from the men. She reached out with tiny soft hands and gave the material of her father's pants three hard tugs, it distracted him from his good time and he acknowledged the little girl. He was looking at her as though for the first time realizing her existence, blinking slowly while his memory worked overtime to recognize her. "Daddy," she whispered, plump cheeks coloring shyly as the other group of older men hushed altogether and paid her mind. "Will you tuck me in please? I'm tired..." Following this statement, the poor child parted her lips in a wide yawn and rubbed a small fist against her eye.

This went unfinished, however, because before she could close her mouth again one of the strange men stuck his grubby thick finger in it. Sunny froze, going rigid all over at the foreign contact being made, the shock of fear rushing through her shone in her widened gaze. "Wow," the man chuckled warmly. "Look at how wide her mouth is. That's gonna work out well for you in the future sweetie, how deep is your throat?" He shoved the uninvited digit down further and she scuttled backwards, hacking and spluttering as a result to his invasion. Tears immediately formed at the corners of her eyes and she latched on to her step father's leg, burying her nose into him with a grip like a vice. He scooped her up off the ground and placed her gently against his knee, unfocused fingers combed through her pale curly hair.

"She's growing up everyday," he stated proudly to his smiling friends, a crawl of both uncertainty and discomfort made Sunny hunch into herself as much as possible. "Looks just like her mother, I know I'm gonna have to be fighting boys off of her everyday if she gets any prettier." He picked up a half empty brown bottle next to his foot and took a quick swig, Sunny was suddenly opting to take herself to bed rather than sit in the center of everyone's attention any longer. And the grueling taste of that one man's flesh was still bitter and warm on her tongue.

"Forget them other boys," another man grinned, one with thick assets and a head nearly bald. "Worry 'bout yourself! You know you like'em young."

Everyone barked with ugly laughter again and Sunny finally realized she no longer wished to remain here. She lowered her vision towards her beloved stuffed wolf and willed him to give her strength, but her imagination worked against her. Her favorite companion was looking back and reflecting her own terror, clearly wanting to get away just as she was, so the two of them made quiet agreement that it was time to go. Sunny moved to slide from her step father's knee, but his hold around her waist tightened drastically and she froze up a second time. "Where you going sweetheart?" He smiled down at her with a perfectly white row of teeth, a huge difference to the rancid breath burning her nostrils each time he exhaled. "The guys think you're pretty, they just wanna see you is all. You don't gotta be nervous." He nuzzled his nose into the center of her hair and she took comfort in his affections, being with him among all these strangers gave her a small feeling of safety (if not complete).

However, this was ruined when the man sitting beside her father, rail thin with a shaggy brown beared and casually messy hair, outstretched his arms towards her. "Lemme hold her a bit," he offered. Sunny's father didn't give any reluctance in handing her off, she inhaled sharply and hugged her stuffed wolf to her chest with all the might she possessed. If she couldn't protect herself, she would certainly do everything in her power to save him. The man propped her up in his lap and pet her like a dog, she held obediently still and looked on with pleading eyes back to her guardian. This was strict, unknown territory and she didn't like it at all. "She's soft," the man grinned, Sunny shuddered when his fingertips traced up and down her spine. "What a sweet little thing."

He reached around to her front and tried to tickle her under her chin, but Sunny had reached the boiling point of her patience. Her head ducked down and she sank her growing teeth into his finger, biting down as hard as she could until the copper taste of blood exploded within her mouth. The man shoved her from his lap with a loud _"AH FUCK!"_ and she collapsed on her hands and knees, her wolf slid far away from her hold. She scrambled to stand and tried to run off and pick him back up, but her father's giant hands grabbed her suddenly and yanked her back from her stance, causing her to land with a clumsy thud on her rear.

"Sunny!" He scolded in a roaring tone. "You do _not_ behave that way! What is _wrong_ with you?!" He wrenched her stubby arm around her back in a way that hurt so much, she released a wail that split through the night and touched the rolling clouds outside. Then something shot through the window like a bullet and struck the tableside lamp, causing the entire living room to be enveloped in total darkness. Sunny's father let her go in his surprise, the little girl scurried from his reach and picked up her wolf once more. She buried her face in his soft white fur and sobbed, huddling them both into a corner as the trio of men and her father all stood simultaneously, their eyes flicking quickly for the source of intrusion.

"What the hell?!" Sunny observed as her father approached the shattered lamp, kneeling down to examine the pieces. His brows pulled together in thought when he lifted up a tiny black knife, a green question mark was inscribed on the handle. He was too hazy to note the way a dark figure suddenly dropped from the ceiling as though weightless and land silently behind him. A burst of true happiness exploded in Sunny's chest, overwhelmed by the view; Peter Pan's shadow had stumbled into her home by mistake! She straightened, ready to be whisked off to the beautiful reality of Neverland. Instead, Peter Pan's shadow used the edge of his hand to whack precisely at the back of her father's neck and down he fell like flicker of a flame.

The other three men blundered blindly in a panic, swiping quickly in the darkness in clumsy attempts to hurt whatever had threatened them. The shadow spun on his heel and stepped forward, throwing his arm out and using the strength of his knuckles to strike down one of the men. His head careened to the side and he spit blood, he was out just like that without a fight. Another man reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling the figure forward against his chest and locking him in a tight hold. Another drunken man came to stand before the shadow, grinning lazily while popping the joints in his hands, the hideous cracks brought a whimper falling from Sunny's lips.

The shadow struggled while the man before him pulled back a fist. Sunny perked up, inhaling sharply at the idea of her mysterious savior being obliterated by the hands of these terrible people. "No!" She cried and rushed forward, deserting her stuffed wolf in the safety of their corner as she made the sacrifice. She rushed to the man about to hit her hero, then sank her teeth into his hairy leg with the strong clench of her jaw. The taste was putrid, but it certainly did the trick. The man screamed out and crumpled from his readiness, his gaze was dagger sharp when it layed on the betraying child and he kicked her hard in the chest. She fell back and slid across the floor, her eyes instantly filled with fat salty tears which fell from her eyes in harmony her painful sobs. The shadow took advantage of the distraction and flipped his captor over his shoulder. The man landed on his spine and groaned, the shadow lifted a leg towards him and let it fall hard on his opponent's ribcage, the splinter of bones sounded through the air and the man cried out in blurring agony. He wouldn't be up a second time.

The final man had seemingly recovered from his random attack and charged forward with the sloth of his drunken state, the shadow didn't even have to turn around. He threw his elbow out and it broke the man's nose. He stumbled backwards, grabbing his nostrils and roaring through gritted teeth. The shadow turned and kicked him square in his sternum, he flew back from the force and collided his back against the wall. He moaned his defeat, the fell face first into the floor, completely down for the count. Sunny scrubbed at her eyes, both rimmed with faint crimson, and sniffled as the unfamiliar figure turned to face her. He had a gaze the light color of the sky, they stared darkly from the cover of a shadowy mask and a black cloak concealed any distinct assets. He came towards her and knelt upon one knee, his gloved hand closed around her chin and he lifted her face up towards his. He used his thumb to gently brush aside a stray tear, Sunny was frozen in dumb wonderment and just a slight dash of fear.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured in a voice like rough sandalwood. Sunny breathed in lightly and parted her lips to offer a response, but the screech of a police siren cut her off. The figure backed away and spun with a graceful flourish of his cape, he rushed towards the broken window and dived through it. Sunny rose up to her feet and ran off to quickly peer through it, straight into the darkness, but the masked boy was gone. Disappeared with only the wind left as evidence.

§

The Coon scowled from the rooftop he stood upon, cape billowing in the wind from behind him. Police cars had quickly arrived at the little girl's house, and now they were dragging the broken men from the interior in the unforgiving nature of handcuffs. The child sat on the hood of the Sheriff's automobile, her arms waved to accentuate the heroic tale of her nameless savior. Dressed all in black with a glowing green 'M' inscribed on his chest, he had moved swiftly in battle and taken out each individual character who had threatened her. A new hero had entered the scene, already making headway despite his brand new status, and Cartman could not have been more outraged by such a display.

Stan was at his side tonight, wearing the costume of his superhero alter ego; Toolshed. He looked to Cartman through the goggles over his eyes and offered a curious tilt of his head. "Who was that guy?" He asked, Cartman spared him a severe glare before rising to his natural height and moving on from their position. They would discover this masked vigilante soon enough, whoever dared to take the streets from Cartman would sooner learn he had stepped foot into the wrong town. His stormy eyes glared at the glittering length of his claws and his jaw twitched with his annoyance. It was probably Kyle, the idiot Jew rat had witnessed him in action several nights ago and, as a result, thought he could take the cake as a copy cat.

"We're going to find out," he answered gruffly and beckoned Stan to follow after him.

§

Kyle had been seeing Rebecca for a few days now. Well, he hadn't exactly been seeing her, but certainly he liked to think that such a fact would be made certain to reality. They spoke of everything, mostly books they had both found enjoyment within. She was so wise, beyond her years and on, and Kyle imagined he would never come across anyone he could adore more. It was the first time he had ever felt this way, and he was riding the high as though it might fade at some point. Everything fascinated her, everything was a puzzle she longed to crack open no matter how long she would have to investigate, and Kyle could listen to her theorize forever.

He had revealed to her his dislike of romance during one of their conversations and she had laughed in a way that made Kyle ache. In response, she had dared him to read _A Tale of Two Cities_ and see it through til the end. If he managed to succeed, he would get to pick any book in the library he liked and she would have no choice but to finish it all the way through, no skipping chapters either. So far, he had discovered the story not to be as insufferable as he had imagined, the writing was impressive and the characters were well developed. And although the main idea to the plot was the difficulty and harsh reality of love, Kyle found he enjoyed the prospect.

There was a gentle _ting_ emitted from the laptop on his desk, Kyle looked up from the pages of his book and acknowledged this. His laptop was opened on the feed of his Facebook, someone was trying to communicate through his messages. Shutting his novel, Kyle climbed from off of his bed and went to see who was contacting him, a smile lifted his mouth when he recognized the name at once.

 _Hope you're reading, bookworm,_ Rebecca had sent to him. She didn't have a cellular due to a lack of permission from two strict parents, but she did have a PC for research and study purposes. Although it was a large feat, Kyle had managed to convince her in joining the booming social media website despite the forbidden nature given from her household. The very first message she had sent him was an excited little sentence telling him it was the first most reckless thing she had ever done. Of course, she never bothered interacting with anyone who was not the redhead so it wasn't as though she were too much of a wildcard. But Kyle had made it his personal goal to break her from the protective shell she had built around her, those crotchety parents of hers rarely allowed her access to the real world and even saw to homeschooling to ensure she and her older brother were protected. Grinning, he quickly typed out a response.

 _I am reading,_ he assured her. _You might be devastated to know I'm actually enjoying the book too._

 _Oh dear heavens,_ she answered at once. _Please be merciful while picking out my next book to read, anything bearable._

 _I was thinking more along the lines of Beautiful Creatures,_ he teased. _You know, the cliche hot but weird girl is new to the school and has scary superpowers._

 _I've made a horrible mistake in knowing you. Goodnight Kyle._

 _Sleep well Rebecca._

There was a pleasant warmth spreading throughout Kyle's chest as he happily shut off his laptop, the screen turned black and reflected the space of his bedroom. This included the uninvited boy crouched silently on his bed, where his book sat as well. Kyle spun around immediately with a loud yelp of surprise, staring in wide eyed wonderment at an unfamiliar boy dressed in a long dark cloak with the symbol of a green 'M' printed on his shirt. He appeared far too casual perched on Kyle's comforter, as though they were friends of some sort. "Dude!" Kyle reached back towards his desk and felt for anything he could use as a weapon, only to feel his fingers close pitifully around his pencil. "Who the fuck are you?! What are you _doing_ in here?!"

"Oh calm down Kyle," the boy waved a gloved hand towards him as though warding off his rational reaction. "I just came to visit you is all. That, and tell you about how fucking awesome it is to be a vigilante."

Kyle blinked his bulbous eyes, this kid knew his name. But _how_ was the true question. He ripped the pencil out of hiding and chucked it towards the other boy, it flew through the air in a spin that he effortlessly knocked aside with a laugh. Useless, just as Kyle had easily predicted, but it was still worth the attempt. "I don't know who you the hell you are," Kyle took a slow and cautious step towards his bed, his muscles taut in the likely event of a fight. "But vigilante asshole or not, you can't just waltz into whatever home you like and think everyone is just going to gladly welcome you. Now get out of here, I'm tired of this stupid shit."

"Kyle, dude, relax. Look." The boy lifted his hands towards his hood and pushed it back, revealing a messy mop of golden hair he shook out and let fall over his eyes in tousled waves. He pulled away his mask and blinked his thick yellow lashes, a smirk turned up his mouth and Kyle realized, with a jolt of shock, he really _did_ know who this kid was. Well, only sort've, they had spoken just once with one another but Kyle doubted that meant they were in good cahoots together.

"K-Kenny?" Spluttered the green eyed boy.

Kenny leaned back against the wall and spread his legs out over Kyle's comforter, relaxed and eased. "Yea," he chuckled. "It's me. Except, when I'm wearing this sexy as hell costume, I go by _Mysterion._ Hey! What's that look for?" Kenny clicked his tongue at the disbelieving narrow of Kyle's strangely bright eyes and bent one leg up towards himself. "It's better than _Chipmunk_ or whatever fat boy came up with for his persona. Anyway, I literally just came back from saving this little girl from these drunk assholes in her home, the rush was _incredible!_ And I was actually someone's hero for the night, I don't think there's anything more satisfying. Except, maybe, two lovely breasts from an even lovlier girl squeezed against my-"

"Okay that's enough!" Kyle clapped his hands together before Kenny could finish his vulgar comparison, he furiously approached the edge of his bed and reached across to grab the blonde's broad shoulders. He dragged Kenny from the mattress despite his obnoxious objections, forcing the supposed hero up on his own two feet and exhaling his frustrations. "Get. Out. _Now."_

Kenny appeared sincerely bewildered by Kyle's lack of excitement, his azure light eyes rounded in surprise at the venomous poise to his tone. "Why?" He asked, crossing two arms over the squiggly green 'M' on his chest, the narrow in his eyes sent Kyle's blood boiling. "I came here for good reason, you should know that Cartman was _right_ about this shit! Being a superhero freaking rocks you should really try it. I was thinking I help you come up with something epic and cool like me, then we go ask Cartman to show us the ropes to this whole vigilante thing."

"No!" Kyle immediately rejected, he stepped around Kenny and grabbed the black mask from off of his bed, offering it abrasively towards the darkly clad boy. "I don't _want_ a superhero identity. I don't _want_ to put on a stupid costume and run around town thinking I'm some kind of hero when, in reality, I'd just be a douchebag in tights." He sent a suggestive glance up and down Kenny's odd apparel, the blonde followed his line of vision and frowned as though offended. "You guys really think you're making some kind of a difference, you actually seem to _believe_ that life can function like a comic book if you decide it can but this is real life Kenny. You should wake up and take a look at it before you fall on your ass."

Kenny appeared unfazed by Kyle's harsh blow to his ego, he scoffed as though something of a joke had presented itself and the green eyed boy fumed drastically from his place. "Alright," Kenny sank back down against the mattress, blatantly ignoring the way Kyle offered him a dark gaze full of murderous intentions. "Let's take a look at your precious _reality_ Kyle. In this so called _reality,_ I die almost everyday yet nobody seems to recall it even if they were there. Except, of course, for you and those other guys for some reason. Stan can make a wrench dance through the air without touching it, and _you_ have a fucking kite growing out of your back. Sounds like a pretty modern reality right?"

Kyle stared, aggravated, as the cocky blonde raised a slim brow in challenge towards him. He was right, nothing about the poor boy's life was to be considered as ordinary no matter how desperate he was for it, perhaps living in a fantasy of normality was instead causing things to be much more difficult than what was supposedly necessary. But what was he to do? Kiss such dreams goodbye and put on spandex? Go about the town challenging the horrors which threatened it and insist upon himself that his intentions were not selfish, that if he were a perfectly plain little boy he might go out and save other lives all the same? It wasn't true, the only reason any of them had a motive for saving the day was because they needed a reason to feel comfortable about themselves. Stan never met his eyes in the mirror, the strange vibrancy of them was unnatural indeed and only existed due to the effects of that blasted machine (promising a full charge if he wished to use the random gift of firing lasers from his pupils) and though they were often admired, Kyle hated them savagely. Blinking out of his thoughts, Kyle realized that Kenny was straddling the window sill, mask covered back over his face and hood pulled down over his hair. He offered the dazed redhead a slight dip of his head, then fell from grace as though nothing was more natural.

Kyle forced himself to remain still, unwilling to attack the billowing curtains and see whether or not Kenny had made it to safety. He knew already, he was gone without a trace. It seemed to simply be the way of the superheroes, each one of them disappearing into the night as though a shadow themselves. And, when Kyle thought about it, the simile was depressingly fitting. The quartet of boys were each silhouettes of what they longed to be, dust particles mindlessly being carried by the wind. Kyle was treating his own like his enemy, the pull of something greater than himself threatened to teeter him over the edge. He thought of Rebecca, ever so wonderful and containing all the qualities of a girl the boy would dream up in the end. She was his hope of normality, and perhaps she was all he needed. If Kyle floated to the sky in dangerous dreams and an impossible world not meant to be lived by anyone, she was strong enough to anchor him back to the ground and reassure him there was nothing left to fear. _I can't,_ a soft, sensitive side to him moaned with unhappiness.

Yet he had to.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm struggling with something. Like, I was considering incorporating Tweek and Craig into the future plots I'm still beginning to develop but, at the same time, I made a promise not to do anything romantic between two characters unless there was at least a one sided display of feelings. The episode** ** _Craig X Tweek_** **had them getting together but it was sort of played out against their will (they agreed to date for the sake of the town) so it's really a struggle. I feel like having a homosexual pair in the stories might be important as well as diverse but, I don't know it might be breaking my own rules. Of course this is all very far into the future, I still like to get things worked out beforehand so that I don't suffer from writer's block. We'll see I suppose.**


	12. We Are

A howl of grief came from his mother's room while Cartman sat and pondered silently in his study, his thumbs tapped mindlessly together against his lips and his eyes, the color of the sky when a storm is beginning to brew, glared fiercely towards his loafers. Thief was in the house today, sniffing along the wooden planks of the floor for anything of particular interest with little claws scraping against them obnoxiously. It was better than Lianne Cartman wasting valuable energy sobbing over a useless loss, whether it was her husband or her son was beyond him at the moment.

Mysterion had been on the television last night, Cartman had viewed smudgy pictures of an unable figure climbing swiftly over a fence with a conspicuous look over his shoulder. His had deepened as he observed the story, South Park was especially obsessed with the little girl he had rescued from her step father and drunken friends and the brunette could not have possibly been more disgusted with the turnout. The Coon was the first one to enter the streets as a much needed icon, a symbolic messenger reigning hope and strength to the weak in need of rescuing. But everyone was much more fascinated with this single character who had succeeded only once in his new lifestyle.

It was the Jew rat, Cartman had never been more certain of anything in his entire life. That Kyle bastard had put on a costume, called himself something as unimaginable as _Mysterion,_ then when about earning publicity and humiliating Cartman at his own game. It was outrageous to so much as consider, it made Cartman's fist clench and his teeth grind at the idea of his smug grin occupying his stupid face. Who did he think himself to be? How _dare_ he turn his nose up like the idea of being a true vigilante was the dream of a child, then go out and declare fame from something that was his true calling in the first place. He would be damned.

"Hello?" The familiar voice of an individual he had not invited into his home echoed throughout the wide hallways near Cartman's study, his posture straightened with concern and he sent a wild look towards the wide double doors he stayed behind. "Hello?! Cartman, you in here?"

Thief tilted his head and froze up, one inky paw frozen midstep. Cartman swiftly stood from his chair and scrambled to go answer the call of the other boy, throwing open the heavy masses and rushing to follow to sound of an intrusive tone. It didn't take long for him to finally stumble upon Stan, a look of dazed confusion in his dark blue eyes as he admired the structure of Cartman's much too large mansion. "Dude," he grinned when the stocky teen halted right in front of him. "This place is totally sweet. You should throw parties here, do you know how fucking popular you'd be if you did? _Everyone_ would wanna be on your good list."

Cartman rolled his eyes at the thought, just what he needed. It wasn't as though they still had maids around to tidy up the house every now and then, it would be left up to him to pick up the inevitable destruction of his popular if he let the sex crazed screeching miscreants of high school celebrate positively nothing but their youth in his private quarters. Not only that, but someone might find his drunken slob of a mother and her secrecy would be blown. Another reason why he needed to be rid of Stan before he ventured too far.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He hissed through his wall of teeth. "How did you even get _in_ here?! It shouldn't have been that easy to-" Something was horribly wrong, Cartman's chest ached with the rapid thump of his heart and he pressed the edge of his palm to his chest while trying to recover his breath. Something about the fact of Stan slipping undetected into his mansion petrified, it brought back memories of a little gray eyed boy being rushed by a trembling mother to hide away under the floor while his father glared down the barrel of a bloodthirsty pistol. It was haunting, Stan's ability to break in meant _anyone_ could break in if they wanted to. Security had failed him there, what if Stan hadn't been an ally? What if Stan had been a crazed grieving man demanding justice towards the wrong set of people, searching once more for Eric Cartman Senior due to a crime he had not committed?

"Woah Cartman," Stan reached out to grip the rotund boy's thick arm and it occurred to Eric in that instant that he very much needed to be steadied. Cartman had never identified the prominent trauma of his past simply because he never suffered. It appeared there was something in which to trigger it's existence, perhaps ignoring the agony of one's past truly _was_ effective on their future. "Dude, you're all pale and shit! What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Cartman snapped the word and snatched himself free of Stan's concerning hold. "I'm just, it's just, it isn't anything. Heat flash." He swallowed it, buried it under thick skin and harbored its profile like a filthy fugitive. When it was nestled safely into darkness, he narrowed his eyes towards a flabbergasted Stan watching him intently. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He demanded, his threatening calm a true contrast to the note of panic he carried with him only seconds ago. "Nobody is allowed inside my house. You have to leave and you need to do it now."

"Why can't I-" Stan cut himself off when Lianne began to sob, begging for one single name repeatedly like a depressing cycle throughout the empty home; _Eric, Eric, Eric..._ Cartman lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and exhale tiredly. Stress had taken a dreadful toll on the poor boy, weakened by thoughts of Mysterion and what to do with a godforsaken mother too helpless to so much as leave her bedroom. Stan flicked his eyes in the direction of the weeping, his brows raised in contemplation and he parted his lips to ask the obvious. Cartman's black look which dared him to be curious caused him to clamp up at once. Instead, he took note of Thief scampering down the hallway and into the room, pausing beside Cartman to gaze up in wonderment towards the strange newcomer. "Aww!" He crooned, kneeling down towards the mammal as it examined Stan from head to toe. "You have a little raccoon! It's like your superhero costume." He reached out with extended fingers as though meaning to attempt affection towards the creature, Thief reacted instantly.

He bared his sharp, yellow stained teeth and hissed like a demon in warning to keep away. Stan jumped backwards in surprise and tucked his hand cautiously against his chest, eyes rounded in terror. Appearing satisfied, Thief briefly pressed a loving nose into Cartman's leg, then trailed off for further exploration. "Oh yea," chuckled the brunette as he watched the rodent disappear around a corner. "He's a sweetheart, but only to me. Let's go take a walk Stan." His pace was highly unrelaxed as he led the way from the mansion and out towards the exit space. He pushed open one of the oversized doors while Stan kept easy stride beside him, neither of them spoke until they were past the eerily haunting gates of his property. "What brought you here?" He asked the ravenette, his eyes locked upon the progress of a pigeon taking flight.

"It's about Mysterion," Stan offered with far too much excitement. "Did you see the news last night? They were talking about him."

"Yes I saw the news," Cartman couldn't keep the bite of anger from his tone at the thought of their faceless rival. "It wasn't very helpful though, I'm not sure why you're bringing it up."

"It _was_ helpful!" Stan insisted, they made a turn down the sidewalk and paused their words when a woman passed by. They waited until they were certain she wasn't within earshot, then Stan went on with his explanation. "The little girl that he rescued, the only thing about him she could see were his eyes. Light blue. If you're right Cartman, and Mysterion is someone we know, it has to be Kenny. He's got light blue eyes too, and we discussed becoming a superhero with him! It all makes sense, I think we should go ask him about it and tell him to knock it off unless he wants to be revealed." Cartman paused their footwork and let his eyes fall shut, highly disappointed by the fact that Kyle wasn't the one stirring up conflict (he would've loved a reason to bash his skull in). Still, at least they had evidence over who this masked fiend was embarrassing everything he had worked for.

"No," he said decidedly, turning to face Stan's wide eyed expression of surprise. "He'll be out tonight, no doubt. That's when we'll strike. I think it's time Mysterion properly meets the two _real_ heroes of South Park."

§

"I'm not wearing this."

"Stop being a bitch Kyle, you look fine." Kenny was lounging on the auburn's bed with his legs stretched luxuriously out before him, out of costume for the day. He had went out to buy outfit material with him for the day after receiving a message from Kyle over Facebook that he was curious over where this could potentially go. Kyle reviewed his appearance in the mirror with disdain, his kite blossomed out from his back in a disarray of obnoxious coloring, free and natural. It felt better to have it unfolded like he usually did with it, but it was still a considerable oddity to see it like this. He looked away, this costume concealed his identity well enough if not perfectly, but Kyle could still recognize himself. It was him, the freakish boy who had a kite growing out from the center of his back and eyes which glowed an unnaturally green shine due to their possession of laser activity.

"I can't do this," he turned from the frowning image and pulled back the material of his costume over his head, his afro of fiery curls toppled free and drizzled over his forehead in a natural rain of mess he never cared for. He moved across the floor and settled himself on the edge of his bed, avoiding the way Kenny watched him with observant blue eyes and a blonde brow raised in consideration. "It's too hard to so much as look at myself dressed like this. I can barely do it when I look normal, but this? Letting everyone _see_ the weirdo I am? You and Stan, neither of you get it. You have no trouble at all hiding what you are, you don't have to worry about someone looking at you wrong and realizing there's something up. I can't take off my jacket in public, I can't go swimming, I can't even hug the members of my family because otherwise they'd _know._ They'd know what's wrong with me, they would never look at me the same. Do you get what I'm saying Kenny?" He turned to face the eerily silent blonde, watchful and attentive of the distress his slowly developing friend seemed to be in.

Kenny leaned forward, bending one knee up and resting his elbow upon it while his tongue ran over the inside of his bottom lip, contemplating. Finally, he asked a question, one which made Kyle go rigid with wide eyed disbelief as his lungs deflated with oxygen. "Can you fly dude?"

Kyle set his jaw and assaulted him with a gaze fierce enough to smite down an angel, the muscles in his shoulders tensed and the dance of outrage in his glittering eyes caused Kenny's mouth to curve up into the make of a crooked grin. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!" he burst out suddenly, spitting the words like venom and wishing them to do just as much damage. "No I cannot _fly!_ Just because there's a kite growing out of my back doesn't mean there's a chance that I can take off into the sky like some sort of faggy-ass Superman! What the mother of fuck, what even _gave_ you that sort of assumption? Are you retarded, or just that big of an asshole?" He wasn't satisfied with his outburst, turning back to face his room he stood on both his feet and went towards the corner he had carelessly flung his street clothes into. Kenny seemed unfazed by his note of outrage, notably unapologetic as well. He slid himself from off the mattress as well, mindlessly disheveling the smooth material of meticulously made bed-sheets as he went and standing as well. He lifted both arms above his head and stretched until a loud pop sounded from his back, then lazily wrung out his arms.

"Have you ever tried?" he pressed, causing Kyle to whirl around with a plain white tee threaded through his fingers.

"Kenny, I swear to God-"

"I'm just saying dude, it might be something you can try. I mean, lasers come out of your eyes for no reason, right? Flying seems like it would be a sensible part of this whole business." He crossed his arms and shrugged thoughtfully, Kyle boiled on the spot. He flicked his curious green eyes towards the mirror on the back of his door again and regarded himself through the curtain of auburn hair nearly covering his vision. Honestly, he didn't know why his mother wouldn't let him cut it off, at least to a tolerable circumstance. But then, he might miss sitting beside her when she would return from a busy night at work, half asleep as she pried away his precious ushanka and played blearily with the springy strands of obnoxious hair. _You can't get rid of this,_ she would coo to him. _It's such wonderful hair, I love it so much. Why don't you stop hiding it under that god-awful hat and let people see how fantastic my little boobala's hair is? Such wonderful hair..._

He scowled before turning his attention back towards Kenny, who was examining a picture on his desk of himself and Ike forcibly hugging one another and offering cheesy, terribly strained smiles towards the camera. "Well anyway," said the blonde, turning to address Kyle once more. "Fly or not, you should go out with me tonight. Just for tonight and if you don't like it, I'll never bother you to come and join again. I promise." He lifted the flat of his palm up towards Kyle and nodded as though personal with his sense of honor. Kyle rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, disbelieving in it's entirety that Kenny would let bygones be bygones if he agreed to go out, crime fight, then say he would never do it again. Something told him that most of the things spouted from this boy's mouth would be undeniable horse-shit and that he would need to be especially considerate when speaking with him.

"I..." He sent another glance towards his mirror in uncertainty, but Kenny swiftly stepped in the direction his line of vision was leading to block the view of himself. Kyle groaned and pushed back his atrociously thick bangs, shutting his eyes with a breath as he thinks on his options. Going out for the night dressed like an idiot, letting everyone see the kite sprouting from his back while hooking a finger at bad guys and attempting to sound horrifying while threatening their lives, didn't sound appealing in the slightest. But that was because he was harshly narrowing his eyes at the idea in a way that insisted upon his doubt. He couldn't seek out the magic like Kenny did, understand what drew Cartman into the streets like a moth dazzled by the golden glow of a flickering flame. And maybe, just maybe, there was a pathetic spark of need inside that desperately wanted to know the urges. The little boy within, the one who's childhood was wrongfully robbed of him because of a curiosity he couldn't take back, begged to know a world adventurous and promising. _I owe it to myself._

"One night," he relented at last. "Asshole."

§

This was an idiotic decision left on his behalf, Kyle thought. He was leaning boredly against a lamppost, fully fledged in costume, with arms crossed over his chest and eyes glaring down towards the concrete sidewalk in dismay. Despite the harsh exterior of confidence he was presenting to the world, inside was an entirely different story. His heart beat frantic and harsh in his chest, as though demanding escape before things were too out of hand. It was a grand contrast to the way Mysterion appeared, completely within the comfort of his element as he blended into the stretch of shadows and scanned in full silence for any sign of lurking predators. A naturally born hero in the depths of much needed concentration and eyes like two clear pools of water consuming his surroundings, missing absolutely nothing.

Kyle looked back at him, the creases of stress in his face relaxed slightly at Kenny's lack of worry. Of course, it wasn't as though the dark hero had much to concern over (what with his immunity to death and all) but it felt better to agree with an expert that there was nothing to fear. "So," Kyle broke the anxious silence with his easy tone and was presented with the cut of Mysterion's eyes in his direction. "What are we supposed to do here? Just, what, wait around for danger to jump in front of us and say _'Hey, I'm evil, now come and get me before I do something illegal.'"_

"Be silent Human Kite," came his sharp response, Kyle was struck dumb by the drastic change in his personality compared to the perverse carefree adolescent he had spent time with earlier that day. "Danger is not always so obvious, it takes time and calculation in order to truly find it. To find someplace in need of our assistance, you first must learn to _listen."_ He bowed his head and shut his eyes, the hood of his cloak shadowed his face in a way that made him seem older and much wiser beyond his years. It was strange and foreign to see him so dedicated, was this the same boy who had made him uncomfortable through conversation about the apparent wonder that was a girl's nether regions?

His eyes suddenly snapped open, his shoulders tensed and he snapped impatient fingers towards where Kyle was still leaning against a lamppost. "Up," he demanded and Kyle's eyes burned with outrage, pushing himself to a standing position and preparing to tear into Kenny for thinking himself so high and mighty that he had the right to order him around. However, he fell silent when a figure leapt down from the rooftop on the building before them and landed heavily upon the top of a dumpster, stormy irises cast their glare upon the duo of boys as though bringing promises of future torment.

From the alleyway beside him stepped yet another mysterious figure; a boy with sweeping ebony hair and goggles across his dark blue eyes while sporting the apparal of a man about to go to work on a building project. From his belt, he produced a handful of nails and tossed them into the air, the sharp little pieces of silver descended towards the floor and suddenly halted in midair, the boy turned his finger and the nails aimed their dangerous points towards Mysterion and The Human Kite. With an almost lazy wave of his arm, the nails all charged forth and pierced through the material of Kyle's costume. The strength of them should have been scientifically _impossible,_ yet they took him backwards off his heels and pinned him into the brick wall behind him.

Kyle tried to pry his arms free, but they had him pressed to the wall with irresistible brutality, something he couldn't fight back no matter struggle he put up. Kenny's eyes snapped towards their attackers, his stance cautious and prepared for anymore amazing tricks they might've had slithered up their sleeves. The first one stepped out of the shadows and into the intense hum of a tired light, Kyle instantly paused his work to free himself when he found instant recognition in the wide girth of this boy along with an attire which paid tribute to a raccoon.

"Cartman?!" He spit, the whites of his eyes were lined with jagged crimson strips from the intensity of his burn of outrage. In conclusion to realizing who the lead captor had been, he locked eyes with the second boy with the mystic ability to give nails super strength. "Stan," he deadpanned with a narrow of disbelieving vision. The ravenette stiffened immediately, obviously not intending to have been recognized so easily, but he was a tough one to forget. Kyle remembered those words as clear as a feverish daylight: _I have the power to command any tool possible._

"That's Toolshed," came Stan's sharp response, though his cheeks were stained with the dark coloring of clear humiliation. Perhaps he was truly hoping to do this incognito, tough luck Kyle decided. "And we've come to tell you to knock this shit off. You can't just steal all the glamour like this, _we_ started it."

"Wait a minute," Kyle piped up once more and flicked his eyes between Mysterion and The Coon, both of which were silently glaring one another down. _"That's_ what this is about? Some petty jealousy that people noticed Mysterion before they noticed _you?!_ Give me a fucking break, he's a one hit wonder you jackasses! He saved a little girl from a dick, big whoop. People will get over that shit once another popstar nearly trips over a crack in the sidewalk."

"And who are you supposed to be?" Cartman's eyes broke away from Kenny's to regard Kyle, clearly irritated by the scoff in his undertone. "I'm guessing from your choice of costume and that mean look on your face. But is it _Kike_ Man perhaps?"

"What did you just call me-"

"Enough Coon," Mysterion finally spoke up for the first time with a chin lifted in clear defiance, unappreciatve of Cartman's lack of filter when it came to his prodding wit. "You obviously misunderstand what's going on here, and I'm going to set it straight before we go anywhere we really don't want to." He stepped forward, peering towards the fellow hero from beneath his dark hood while Kyle worked to calm his frustrations. It had always been there plan to approach Cartman and wonder if he still needed an extra hand in combat, then things would smooth out and this could all be dropped.

"I'm the real hero around here," Kenny said, shocking the redhead to his very core. "These streets belong to me, fatass. Now get off of them."

Cartman's dark eyes flashed with outrage and he struck out instantly, a crack straight into his nose with his doubled fist in the beginning of a battle. Kyle grunted in annoyance and pulled against the nails once more, the coil of veins in his arms strained against his skin while his muscles bunched to show his exhausting effort. Eventually, the nails each tore away from their restraints and flew forward like rapid bullets through the darkness. Kyle fell upon one knee after suddenly being granted his freedom, but he lifted his gaze up in time to see Toolshed moving to assist The Coon in his match.

He didn't think, he just acted. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to willfully summon something he hadn't used in such a long time. When his lids pried apart, a vibrant line of crimson shot out from both irises in a blaze Kyle couldn't control properly. It charred the ground and continued up towards Stan's feet, the boy scrambled backwards to avoiding being especially scorched by his abrupt show of power. Kyle shut his eyes a second time and groaned at the blistering sizzle lingering behind them, harsh and echoing. He forced himself to look towards Stan, the unnatural vibrance to the color of his irises had darkened drastically to a forest type of green. They appeared much more prominent in size now, dilated and surprised.

He made himself stand on both feet, glaring down his prominent opponent with powers hurt as danger ridden as his own. Before either of them could make another move, however, the wail of a police siren had them all frozen on the spot. Mysterion and The Coon had each other in a tight grip, squeezing with a need to make bones crack, but they both went rigid at the familiar screech of the law and they turned attention towards the street. Headlights were fast approaching, the heroes were all in agreement to move from the oncoming danger to the safety of the sidewalk just as a beaten up car went zooming past with a whoosh of air. Not too far along followed two police cars and a huge van labeled _Channel 5 News_ in vigorous pursuit. The quartet exchanged quick glances with one another, then wordlessly dispersed down their own pathways once reaching similar conclusions.

None of them were as fast on foot as were the cars on wheels, but shortcuts could be a bad guy's undoing. Mysterion climbed up a latter and pulled himself up over the lip of tall building, crouching there like a gargoyle statue and observing the car chase not too far ahead of himself. It didn't take much calculation to see precisely which paths and twists he would endure if the wish to catch them off guard was still evident. He wasted not another second, taking off at full speed the other way and bounding over rooftops without fear of death or injury.

Meanwhile, Kyle had proven his intelligence without needing to scout out a map just for double checking. He knew which route the villains would take if it equalled escape and Kyle knew just how to reach them first. Of course, his burn of determination would certainly be devastated the moment he reached them. What more could he do? _Can you fly?_ Kenny's tone mocked him through his skull and Kyle pressed the edge of his palm into his temple, sustaining the ache. If there was ever a time for him to soar, now would certainly be the time. Unfortunately, he wasn't about to test the waters and possibly break his leg in the process of trying to be Peter Pan. He needed to focus.

Simultaneously, Mysterion had finally reached his position. _It's going to hurt so fucking much,_ he forewarned himself, watching and waiting. It didn't take much time, the cars came swerving around a corner and the distant pop of guns rung out into the atmosphere. Mysterion braced himself, gritting his teeth and counting down from the number three. Then, with an exhale, he spread out his illusive cape and made a dive towards the earth. His body landed upon the roof of the oncoming automobile and caused it's tires to cry out in horrendous agony while the vehicle was forced to spin out of control.

Mysterion leapt sideways from the dented metal just as the car flipped, landing against his shoulder with a grunt and rolling until he landed in a crouch. The car was upside down now, sliding against the road as sparks sprung up and danced like fireworks, all the more destructive and dangerous. It soon came to a stop, a trio of thugs came crawling from the windows with profiles bloodied and bruised, lips spluttering vulgar words to describe their outrage. One of impressive height and a head without hair stumbled to a standing position first, he ripped a pistol from his belt and clicked off the safety, pointing the barrel towards Kenny without any reluctance.

"Idiot boy dressed like pansy," he spit in an accent thick and Russian. "You die now."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Mysterion muttered under his breath, hoping the man would aim for his skull and put him out quickly. Bullets tended to hurt, believe it or not.

Kyle came slithering from the dark crevice of an ally in time to see the men all rejoining their places on their feet. A skinny, rail thin guy noticed him at once and instantly pointed a shivering gun in his direction, eyes wild with expressive shock and fright. Kyle lifted his hands in surrender at once, clearly this guy was wavering in stability and the last thing the redhead wanted to do was piss him off too much.

 _"Не двигайся, глупый малыш!"_ The man barked in a dialect beyond Kyle's reasonable understanding. _"Не думай, что я не буду стрелять!"_

"In English, dumb-fuck." Kyle responded, keeping his gaze locked upon the quivering gun daring him to so much as breathe. His eyes were currently useless, not that he felt so quick to jump up and use them. For now, he was halted at gunpoint, the rage of adrenaline coursing through his veins was utterly dizzying.

A silhouette moved on the building behind him, two eyes became wide and dismayed at their serious predicament and caused a voice to shout in fear. "Kiteman!" Stan retrieved from his belt a heavy wrench and gave it a blind throw, silent command forced it's weight to spin through the air and take out the trembling kneecaps owned by the nervous thug. He went out like a light, crying in surprised pain as he collapsed and dropped his weapons.

Kyle shot a look over his shoulder towards where Toolshed was knelt, saluting him with a grin and knowable wink. "It's _The Human Kite,"_ Kyle barked up at him, enunciating his superhero name before, with obvious reluctance, muttering a small thank you and turning back to the action. A second gunman was rubbing his head from possible concussion, then his eyes met Kyle's. Kyle rushed forth and procured from the ground the fallen firearm while the second man struggled to pull his own from the waistband of his pants. Kneeling, Kyle pulled the trigger and was stunned by the strength of it's kick, the bullet seared the air and struck home right into the thug's shoulder. He yelped at the burn and fell backwards in shock. A grin smoothed itself across the auburn's mouth and he examined the pristine metal of the gun he clutched, smoking from being fired off. "Cool!" He exclaimed wholeheartedly, no wonder these things were so often used.

Lastly, Cartman came darting from places unknown, swiping the gun from Kyle's hand before he could even blink and slid forward until he reached the tall man about to blow Kenny's head off. Cartman kicked out his legs from under him and pointed the gun straight towards the center of his forehead, a smirk crossed naturally over the adolescent's assets. _"Попробуй что-нибудь, дай мне самую маленькую причину, чтобы покончить с тобой."_ He raised a brow daringly and the man chose wisely to hold perfectly still.

The police cars swerved to a halt before the crime scene with lights flashing crimson and azure, the doors flung open and cops shielded themselves behind them, aiming guns and demanding everyone to freeze. The news van skidded up behind the action and a crew rushed to greet it head on, camera rolling. A woman with fluffed pale hair came as close as the law would allow her, cameraman right on her heels, and thruster her microphone out in thirsted definition to know the plot of this positively overwhelming story. "The public needs to know who you heroes are!" She called to them. "Tell us your names!"

The boys all looked towards one another in wide eyed unison, Stan came climbing from the side of the building he was perched upon to stand beside Kyle. "I'm Toolshed!" He brushed aside his bangs and offered the newscast a boyishly bashful grin. It was a wonder, the lack of fear he pertained in letting people see him so clearly, Kyle stared in awe at his relaxation. Moments of calculation brought him to his answer, a wonderful sense of realization which caused his nerves to ease especially. They _weren't_ seeing him clearly, Stan was in a disguise unrecognizable to all and nobody could berate him for being less than human.

Kyle straightened, leaving the gun to lie against the road and offering a smile of his own towards the camera. "I'm The Human Kite," he revealed and flicked his gaze towards the last two remaining in secret.

"Mysterion," Kenny dipped his head, voice rough as two stones scraping together and a frown intensified the darkness to his character.

Cartman looked between them, his face was completely free of the typical vain and malice he occupied himself with. There lied something else, something childlike and innocent for the matter, it made those eyes seem a little less dark. _It was hope._ He smiled, crooked and true, and sent a quick glance towards the buff man he was still holding at gunpoint. "I'm The Coon," he answered the single question with more confidence than even his thriving arrogance. "And we are Coon And Friends."

* * *

 **A/N: Just so everyone knows, Kyle's hair in this story looks the way it did during _Elementary School Musical._ I loved it so freaking much in that episode, why doesn't it always look that way? I know that typically in the SP fanfictions, Kyle's afro is much more managed, but no I can't stand the idea of him cutting off all that amazing hair (you could just imagine my pain during season seventeen when he decided he was a monk and shaved it away). Thank you all for reading, I hope you're enjoying the story!**


	13. Smile Kids

It was a gentle type of snow fall, filtering through the air like beautiful flakes of glittering shapes, soft and ever so lovely. A wispy fog danced with the wind, nipping lightly at tender flesh unguarded by the protective material of heavy coats. From the mist stepped a petite figure with pale blonde hair uncared for and straggly, his eyes shimmered through the blurry atmosphere and locked upon one single establishment. _She calls me Butters,_ thought the grinning adolescent. _So that's what I'll go by._ He pushed through the doors to _Hooters_ and was instantly warmed by their heater.

Girls giggled as they happened past, balancing trays filled with varieties of desired foods and beverages as they put extra bounces in their steps to ensure nobody ignored their straining bosoms. A perky blonde with heavy fake lashes beamed at him from her podium, stacking together menus and shoving them away. "Hey Leopold," she greeted with a naturally chipper attitude. "You looking for Lexus? Don't worry, she's in today. You want me to seat you in her section?"

"No," Butters raised a hand up to still her actions as he went by. "I think I'll seat myself."

He scoured his settings for a certain redhead in the vicinity, soon locating her figure bent over a table full of panting teenage boys hungrily staring down her generous cleavage. Craig Tucker was part of the circle, pulling close the blushing waitress and whispering in her what could only most likely be vulgar filth. Butters flexed his fingers, watching the yellow course of electricity dance along the length of them before making an uncharacteristically confident approach to the table.

Craig flicked a pair of dark blue eyes towards the intrusive profile, pushing Lexus from his personal space and standing up from his chair. "Hey Puff-Puff," greeted the dark haired adolescent, stepping around the girl to reach the item of his cruel entertainment. "What brings you to _Hooters_ again? I thought we had an agreement about Lexus."

"I never made those agreements," Butters dismissed in an easing voice thick with condescension. "Besides, I came here thinking we might be able to discuss those terms again. If you're willing to, that is." They came face to face, neither backed down from the other, unwilling to fear a future consequence. Craig was especially gleeful over the sproutings of a possible scruff.

"You sure about that, Leopold?" He cracked both rows of his knuckles, a sickening crunch came from the act and would've otherwise caused Butters to cringe. Luckily, the blonde was intent on not revealing any weaknesses. He grinned instead.

"Give it your best shot," Butters invited. Craig moved like a blur, he threw his fist forward with clear aim of his pearl white teeth. However, Butters caught the impact in the center of his hand with remarkably lazy effort. Craig's eyebrows raised slowly in evident surprise, it was a moment which Butters relished deeply, then the boy in unexpected offense squeezed the captive fist. There was a brief spark as his fingers broke and Craig wailed out in hideous agony, he fell on to one knee while Lexus screeched in terror.

Three hulking men came approaching in long strides, intending to break up the fight. Butters lifted his arms around himself and an electric orb of sorts surrounded him under command, one of the security men reached out to grapple him and, in response, his thick fingers were struck with energy. The long digits were charred down to the knuckles and the unsuspecting man backpedalled with a surprised shout until he tripped over a bar stool and fell backwards.

Having served its purpose, the shield evaporated and left Butters wide open, not to say he minded much. The crackle of a tazer threatened to take him down from his right, Butters turned swiftly and caught the wrist wielding it just before it touched his awaiting flesh. He yanked the man forward and delivered a well placed headbutt into your his forehead. He went down like a light, the boy chuckled in delight at the sudden increase of strength he seemed to possess. Spinning, he acknowledged the final guard rushing forward and caught him by his broad shoulders, turning them around and slamming his face against the bar behind them. Butters pinned him there, the waitresses all shrieked in horror while the customers backed away from the display. It was glorious, never had he been in so much power.

He was about to proceed into knocking his victim unconscious, but the blare of the tiny television overhead stole away his immediate attention. A woman was speaking of current events, the line underneath her asked an interesting question; _Superheroes in the town of South Park?_ He peered forward to give his full attention on the matter, hardly struggling to keep the man beneath him kept perfectly in place despite his frustrated jerks of anger.

 _"Last night, four young teenagers with strange powers and colorful desires following that of comic book superheroes stopped crime right in it's tracks. South Park's own Russian Mafia has never been caught before, but thanks to the potential of_ Coon and Friends, _as they call themselves, the police now have three criminals brought in for questioning."_

Replacing the image on television came three black and white mugshots of men glaring into the camera, clutched in front of them were numbers that meant absolutely nothing to Butters. Still, he was highly impressed with such a turn out for boys within his own age group, the woman's face returned onscreen.

 _"The four boys all go by names we managed to receive during the bust; Toolshed, The Human Kite, Mysterion, and- the probable leader of this organization- The Coon."_ Photos of the heroes appeared behind her fluffed blonde hair each time she named one off, each one unclear but not so much that Butters couldn't identify prominent assets regarding them.

 _Interesting,_ so he wasn't the only freak in town. Considerably, Butters could do the things that those other boys were and bring justice to South Park every night while wearing kickass clothing; enjoy the constant risk of his life. But then, what the hell did he owe to this white-trash hick town? If anything, this place was owed solely to him. Just like the world, just like the universe, it was his deserving trophy for all the crap he had been forced to undergo. And this power he had, this gift bestowed upon him from Heaven above, it was there precisely so he could take what was rightfully his property.

He would need some cash...

§

Coon and Friends. Kyle still hadn't gotten over the ridiculous name of their newfound team, the basic brand Cartman had burned against their flesh like belongings with him as the obvious leader. He was sour over it mostly because now that was how the public would view them, Cartman wouldn't change the title while that could stand as his argument. Rather than stew over this loss however (it was easier to do than think of the way his first evening as a superhero had gone), he was currently on his way someplace that would certainly make up for his bad temper.

Rebecca's window was just above him, or so he was wagering. The last window he had hurled a pebble towards emitted a young lad, her brother the redhead assumed, peering outdoors for the bothersome source. Kyle had dived for a group of bushes just before he had been located by an irritated gaze. He bent down to possess a spare pebble and flung it lightly, watching as it gently clicked against the stainless glass and descended back to earth. He waited impatiently for awhile, tapping his foot while expecting a response. When one didn't present itself, he bent down to pick up another rock and pulled back his arm to throw it once more. That is, until he heard a voice speak just beside his ear so suddenly.

"Hello K-Kyle."

The boy spun in surprise and Rebecca jerked backwards almost instantly from the extremely close precision their faces had been in. Her cheeks flushed with crimson coloring and she twiddled her fingers in her lap, Kyle grinned slowly in adoration. "S-sorry," she whispered in a hushed voice. "I didn't m-mean to s-scare you or anything. My b-brother talked about how someone had thrown a rock at his window. I-I simply came to investigate." Her eyes lifted towards the shining emeralds gazing down upon her, the unnatural vibrancy of their quality had returned last night after the worn boy had peeled off his costume. "W-what are you doing here?"

"You," Kyle exhaled, then his own version of a flush stained his flesh and he cleared his throat awkwardly to make up for it. "I just wanted to see you, if that's okay. Are you free right now?"

"A-are you?" Rebecca returned, a questioning brow arched. "It's a school day, it seems to early to have let out already." Timidly, she reached out her arm with heavy reluctance and extended her hand.

Kyle blinked at the gesture, momentarily surprised by it. Then he smiled once again, this time broader than before, and slid his fingers through hers. She tensed for a moment at the newfound contact, but the tiny turn up of her lips caused her assets to utterly glow. Kyle fell into a daze simply looking at her and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "I'm not missing anything," he promised. Rebecca ended up leading him into the backyard, a garden of impressive standards blossomed to life in a variety of gorgeous coloring and surrounded a cement bench just in the center of it all. They both settled upon it, she turned attention towards the bloom of nature.

"Strange boy," she accused of him. "I-ignoring your important education j-just to come and sit with a girl. V-very strange indeed. I'll never understand it."

Kyle looked at her, quiet. A gentle breeze pushed aside her ruffle of curls like fingers affectionately coursing through them, a stray blue petal floated by delicately and landed gently against her shoulder. It was overwhelming and exciting, but Kyle felt an urge to brush it aside with his lips. Rebecca must've felt him staring, her eyes glanced briefly to him before dropping bashfully to her feet, thin lashes towards her high cheekbones; the most lovely specimen he had ever known to exist. _God,_ he thought as his heart trembled in his chest. He leaned towards her.

"Let me kiss you," he said without necessary second thought and her gaze snapped up in shock to meet his. "Please," he quickly added, feeling an unhealthy dosage of ridiculousness, how poetic of him. "Can I please kiss you?"

Rebecca's eyes were wide saucers of unexpected shock, she swallowed heavily and sent a timid glance towards his lips. Her body turned his way and he straightened at once, the scent of her washed over him and he suppressed the threat of a shudder down his spine, her brows knitted together in fear. "I-I've never kissed anyone before," she whispered, the stain of a blush prominent against her cheeks. She leaned in closer.

Kyle exhaled slowly, ducking his head down so that his face was right before hers, the tips of their noses brushed together just slightly. "Me neither," he answered, embarrassed by this honesty. "Theoretically speaking, this probably won't be an especially good experience. But... I still wanna kiss you."

Her eyes slipped shut and she tilted her head up to him, inviting him to dare close the distance between them. His heart was rocketing in his chest, painfully so, the clench in his stomach threatened him with nausea and his pulse was quick enough to make him dizzy. With all the timid grace of uncharacteristic shyness, he eliminated the tiny space keeping them apart and touched his mouth gently to hers. They both went tense the moment contact was made, a zip of electricity ablazed through his veins and the urge for more made him ache internally. He strengthened the pressure of the kiss, momentarily, then peeled away from her entirely. They stared at one another, silent and disbelieving over the circumstances of what just happened between them. Then, surprisingly enough, Rebecca leaned forward and kissed him again.

His eyes closed automatically, he tentatively parted their lips and couldn't stop the shiver which followed. Kyle could _taste_ her, delightful and different from any experience he'd ever been through. His arms wrapped themselves around her back and he pressed them together, but close was not close enough and he couldn't stand it. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't come up with a reason good enough to possibly cease his actions. Their lips weren't quite in sync, they were clumsy and without skill, but it still felt incredible. The need for oxygen made their lungs burned and they broke apart with a gasp, their eyes remained blissfully closed while their foreheads pressed together. They shared the same air, the same breaths, their hearts slammed together as though they had just completed a marathon.

 _"Oh,"_ Rebecca marvelled on a sigh, she rubbed her nose affectionately against his."Th-that's what it's like. I understand w-why people like it s-so much." She curled her short fingers into his thick jacket, Kyle felt a sense of flattery that he had managed to put her in such a daze.

Smiling, he planted a chaste kiss over both corners of her mouth and pulled back slightly to look at her. She was flushed, her lips were swollen and Kyle winced regrettably, he brushed his thumb over the delicate pink flesh and laughed nervously. "Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to kiss you so hard."

"D-don't say things like that," she responded in a voice like silk, gazing at him through her lashes. "You might not do it again otherwise."

Kyle resisted the need to frown, his fingertips traced lightly down her throat, across the protruding bone of her collar, and his vibrant irises focused on the progress as though entranced. Girls like Rebecca were special, darling and magical, and now he could call her his own. This was the first time he had ever been with someone like this, and if he could drown in this moment he would. He would stay here in his haze with someone who fascinated him beyond colorful chemicals and unanswered mysteries of life, and he'd be perfectly content.

But freaks were not offered forever happiness. If Rebecca knew the truth to the monster she gripped tight, would she still clutch him?

§

Cartman awoke from his slumber in a heavy sweat, not at all abrupt and sudden. Instead, he blinked through the darkness and pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. His curtains billowed with the sweet caress of a breeze, the clock on his bedside table flashed crimson digital numbers _4:09 AM._ A nightmare had shaken him from his peace, a tremor still lingered in his palms and he breathed slowly to recompose his calm.

Gunshots had echoed throughout his cruel dreams, he remembered them more so than even the pictures and haunted him in the solid quiet. When he had come home the other night from his succession with the newly gathered Coon And Friends, he had rushed to the bathroom and scrubbed the flat surface of his hands until they glowed raw. Even then, he hadn't managed to erase the stench of gunmetal from tormenting him. He had worked overtime in the battle not to show the disdain which followed holding a pistol, pointing it towards the criminal with the intent to pull the trigger if necessary. Would he have been capable of handling it? Firing the same thing that had blown out his father's eye socket? Would he have been able to endure the kick of the gun, the backward rock of his heels, the deafening explosion which followed the release of an unforgiving bullet?

How could something so tiny hold so much devastating power anyway?

Knowing he wouldn't return to rest, Cartman slipped from the embrace of his blankets and stood on the polished wood of his floors. As he shuffled towards his door, he retrieved a robe from a standing coat rack and slid his arms through the warm sleeves, then turned the knob and ventured towards the staircase. The mansion was void of any sound, meaning his mother had managed to fall prey to exhaustion sometime ago. Either that or she wasn't even home, instead making the bedsprings of someone else's mattress cry with strain; if she wasn't sobbing in her room for someone to adore her like her husband once had, she was giving it up to the next pair of eyes to scan her up and down.

Cartman entered his kitchen and flicked on the switch, yellow light flooded the area and rendered him momentarily blind. The light sound of a feline caused his eyes to swing towards the source, a scruffy gray cat sat upon the countertop with many papers gathered beneath it's rump and a tail wrapped around her tiny paws. She peered curiously towards the boy, nose twitching as she scented the air. Mr. Kitty was her name, a long standing member of the Cartman family since Eric was only a boy. She was the only reason the brunette was at all soft towards her species, though he never let anyone see him behave loving towards her. Cartman scratched in greeting under her chin and she purred her approval.

Gently, he pushed her from the piles of papers and reviewed them in question. It was nothing mail, news and ads that must've been brought in from the mailbox earlier yesterday, Cartman gathered them together with the intentions of disposing them into the trash when a purple envelope slipped from the mess. Cartman shoved aside the useless garbage and lifted the individual piece of mail, squinting just before he tore it open. From it, he pulled out a folded sheet of paper, clean and soft. Cartman undid it, a message was written there in black cursive for him to address:

 _You have been cordially invited to appear at the exclusive Williams's "Celebration for the Greatly Fortunate." Token asks that you put on your most fanciful attire and join together with your specially blessed comrades in the entertainment following wine drinking, fine music, and socialization with-_

Cartman crumpled up the letter and furiously threw it aside. You really had to be a cocky bastard to have a party once a year where only the rich kids were invited. Cartman grabbed the discarded envelope and shook it upside down until a decorated invitation came floating out and landed on the counter surface. _Asshole,_ he snatched it up and tore apart it's essence, letting the worthless pieces flutter towards the floor all together, to which Mr. Kitty immediately dived from the edge of the counter and toyed with them joyously.

Cartman sat at his table, his thick fingers coursed through his tresses and he exhaled. The quiet was much worse than sound, his pulse was erratic with a suffocating fear. When he shut his eyes, he could hear the chamber of a gun click shut. It cocked his way, _God it's not real. Let it go!_

Cartman breathed in.

Bang.

* * *

 **A/N: I can't wait till this story ends, I've got so many ideas for the next one! No worries, this story has a well thought up ending too and all. I hope you're all enjoying so far! Thank you for reading!**


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